


Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and the Goblin Mirror

by Refictionista



Series: "... and none will come after ..." [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Angst and Humor, Drama, F/M, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Refictionista/pseuds/Refictionista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning to complete their seventh year at Hogwarts, Draco and Hermione find themselves thrown into a series of new adventures. Famous for the parts they played in the war on opposite sides, it is hard for them to be friends... But maybe, just maybe, they could become allies. Includes a prologue of the alterations made to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book Cover




	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything below is not actually part of my story; you could even skip it (there is a brief summary in the AN at the top of the next chapter). These scenes contain the changes I made to _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. We are also going to completely disregard the epilogue from both the film and the book. Everything else from the books will be canon, unless I make a notation otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you can find at the bottom of the chapter. Nothing from the wizarding world of Harry Potter is mine. The fact that this story is on this site obviously implies that I am a _fan_ writing _fanfiction_. Because if I did own them, then I would be on my own private yacht in the Mediterranean sipping sangria from a goblet made of diamonds.**

* * *

§ **Prologue** §

* * *

_November 5, 1997_  
_Somewhere near Malham Cove, North Yorkshire_

The main sound Harry Potter could hear as he walked around the camp came from the radio inside the tent. One of his two best friends, Hermione Granger, was in there and listening to the music playing over the Wizard Wireless Network. He knew that she was actually waiting for Potterwatch to begin and with it any word on their friends. Unfortunately, the pirate radio program only provided information sporadically; they might not hear anything for days. It was a depressing thought, one that the power of the Horcrux managed to intensify. Their quest was a difficult one, as dark thoughts became even darker in its presence.

The sun glowed orange at the horizon, casting flickering shadows over the snowy white limestone cliffs surrounding their campground. These jagged rocks were like the age-tinted walls of a prodigious castle, yet they made the landscape only seem more barren. Winter was coming, and the air was chilly. Harry shivered, not having remembered to put on a jumper before he had gone outside to scout for anything suspicious. He thought that the faint scratching noises he heard were caused by animals rather than people, yet he kept his wand held tight at the ready. After one final perimeter check, he returned to the camp.

Throwing the flap aside, Harry Potter walked into Perkin's tent, which had already been charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm long before they had borrowed it. He made his way over to the sitting area and wearily sat down in a folding camp chair. He looked over to his best friend, and what he saw broke his heart.

On the opposite side near the radio, Hermione quietly sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. She was listening to the music with the saddest look on her face, a single tear sliding down her cheek, grieving over how Ron Weasley, his other best friend, abandoned them.

A song rang out from the radio, playing Nick Cave's baritone of heartache.

♫ O children ♫  
♫ Lift up your voice, lift up your voice ♫  
♫ Children ♫  
♫ Rejoice, rejoice ♫

Harry couldn't take it anymore. He _had_ to cheer her up. He stood up and walked over to Hermione, holding out his hand.

It took a moment, but Hermione sighed and took his hand. He pulled her up and removed Salazar Slytherin's locket from around her neck. Hermione relaxed, as if relieved after releasing a great burden from her shoulders. At the physical contact, Harry felt the negative influence of the Horcrux, so he tossed it away, discarding it on a nearby bunk.

Harry pulled Hermione forward and began moving her arms up and down, like a puppeteer, in an attempt to get her to dance. Hermione smiled and then followed Harry's lead, stepping with him to the beat of the music. He twirled her around and she laughed, and Harry smiled, satisfied that he had helped her.

The song ended and they swayed in place, their arms still wrapped around each other. Hermione reluctantly leaned back, inches from Harry's face, but didn't move any further. They stared at each other. Even with her tear stained face, she was beautiful. The Horcrux had taken so much from them, but in return their friendship had grown in strength.

Slowly, Harry leaned back towards Hermione. She made no move to push him off... instead, she closed her eyes. Harry closed his. Their lips met. It was a sweet, gentle kiss that lasted a few seconds.

They pulled away mutually, both with kind smiles and sad eyes.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, Harry said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..."

"Don't be," said Hermione. "This is an impossible situation. Quite frankly, we both needed that. It was... okay. Almost nice."

"Hermione," said Harry with hesitation. "I love you, but I don't like you _like you_ like that."

"I know," she replied. "Like I said, it's okay. Honestly, I feel the same way. Sometimes... it's just nice for someone to hold you to make everything feel alright."

Harry nodded. "You're right." He smiled. "You always are." He walked over to the other bunk, away from the Horcrux. Harry climbed on the bed and scooted over. With no romantic intentions implied by either of them, Hermione crawled in after him, snuggling next to Harry and put an arm over his chest.

Harry pulled her into a hug. "I miss Ginny," he whispered.

Strangely, Hermione didn't feel the need to say the same about Ron.

* * *

§

* * *

_May 1, 1998  
Chamber of Secrets, Hogwarts Castle_

Hermione reached out, taking the basilisk fang out of Ron's loose grip. Her hand trembling, she steadied herself. Then she raised her arm above her head, took another a deep breath, and slammed it down with all the force she could physically muster.

Even this far underground, they could hear the crack of thunder as they felt the ground shaking.

With the fang impaled on its side, Helga Hufflepuff's cup tumbled into the water below, sizzling as it made contact. A wave of water spewed forth, as Voldemort's tortured and writhing soul hung tremulously in the air as it clung to the crest of the surf. The screams of this oncoming terror were horrifying to Hermione and Ron. Then suddenly, it exploded, raining over them. They stood, shocked and utterly still, as the water ran off their bodies and pooled at their feet. For a moment, they stood like this, frozen and unmoving, as if amazed to be alive. Then, their eyes shifted, finding each other. They didn't blink, but then finally Hermione nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Ron blinked and managed to nod his head back at her. He started shaking the water from his arms, a grin slowly grew across his face, and then he said, "That was bloody _brilliant_!"

Hermione smiled, grabbed his hand, and turned to run back down the corridor. _They had to get back to Harry_. Ron released her grip to mount his broom. Once in the air, he reached out, pulling Hermione to him by her waist. They flew towards the exit, almost crashing when they reached the stairwell.

Together, they raced up the stairs. When they climbed out of the secret entrance, a curious Moaning Myrtle floated out of her cubicle. She took one look at their drenched clothing and smirked.

"Hang on a moment!" said Ron sharply. "We've forgotten someone!"

"Who?" asked Hermione.

"The house-elves, they'll all be down in the kitchen, won't they?"

"You want to get them fighting?" asked Hermione incredulously.

"No," said Ron seriously, "I mean we should tell them to get out. We don't want any more Dobbies, do we? We can't order them to die for us…"

There was a clatter as the basilisk fang cascaded out of Hermione's hand. She felt like she was in a dream. Disregarding the doubts that had grown after he had abandoned them, she remembered the years prior when she thought of nothing but Ron, his crooked smile and what his lips would feel like against hers. _Spearmint toothpaste_. That single thought from sixth year consumed her. Hermione ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck as she kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet.

"Here? In my bathroom? Is _this_ the moment?" Myrtle asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, she raised her voice. "Oi! There's a war going on up there!"

Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.

"I know," said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, "so it's now or never, isn't it?"

"You know," said Moaning Myrtle said with a giggle. "If either of you die out there, then you're welcome to share my toilet."

"Yeah... right... thanks," said Ron with a nervous laugh, and he and Hermione set about gathering up the fang and broomstick, both pink in the face.

* * *

§

* * *

_May 2, 1998_  
_Viaduct Courtyard, Hogwarts Castle_

"Harry Potter is dead. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. Anyone who continues to resist will be slaughtered. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your will join me in the new world we shall build together."

There was silence in the grounds and from the castle. Voldemort was so close to him that Harry did not dare open his eyes again.

"Come," said Voldemort, and Harry heard him move ahead, and Hagrid was forced to follow as he carried the "body" of Harry. Opening his eyes a fraction, Harry then saw Voldemort striding in front of them, his bare grey feet gliding across the rubble strewn all over the viaduct. They would be at the castle, very soon.

Harry didn't know what to do. He didn't know how he could possibly fight Voldemort, especially now that the Dark Lord held the Elder Wand. Harry was wandless. Narcissa Malfoy had taken Draco's wand from Harry earlier, when she had lied to the Death Eaters by claiming Harry was dead.

_What was he to do without a wand? How could he possibly defeat Voldemort now?_

"Harry," sobbed Hagrid quietly. "Oh, Harry... Harry..."

Harry felt one of Hagrid's tears fall on his face, and he shut his eyes tight again. He knew that they were approaching the castle and strained his ears to distinguish, above the gleeful voices of the Death Eaters and their tramping footsteps across the bridge, signs of life from those within. Hagrid lurched forward awkwardly, clutching Harry to his chest. The procession stopped after entering the courtyard.

On the other side of the cloister, Neville Longbottom had limped forward down from the steps, with Ginny Wesley following immediately behind him. The battle weary boy stopped suddenly, causing his ginger-haired companion to grab his arm.

"Who's that?" she asked.

Neville turned to Ginny, tried, but then he faltered... unable to speak. His eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. "Ginny..."

Ginny let go of Neville and her hands began shaking. "Neville, who is Hagrid carrying? Who is..." She gasped and began rushing forward, but Neville caught her. She struggled, but he kept her from going to Harry. Her anguished cries were soon cut short by someone else.

"NO!"

The scream was the more terrible because Harry had never expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound. He heard another woman laughing nearby, and knew that Bellatrix Lestrange gloried in McGonagall's despair. He squinted again for a single second and saw the colonnade outside of the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle then came out onto the front steps to face their vanquishers and see the truth of Harry's death for themselves. He closed his eyes again.

"No!"

" _No_!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Ron's, Hermione's, and Ginny's voices were worse than McGonagall's; Harry wanted nothing more than to call back, yet he made himself lay silent, and their cries acted like a trigger; the crowd of survivors took up the cause, screaming and yelling abuse at the Death Eaters, until...

"SILENCE!" cried Voldemort as he pointed his wand to the sky. There was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all.

"You see?" said Voldemort, and Harry felt him striding backward and forward right beside the place where Hagrid cradled Harry in his arms. "Dead, the Boy-Who- _Lived_ is dead! Now is the time to declare yourselves." Harry was unsure if the crowd was silent in defiance or if the Silencing Charms still held.

During the lull, Lucius Malfoy stepped forward hesitantly. His Death Eater robes were tattered and unkempt. "Draco," he said nervously. Then, more forcefully, he called out to his son again. "Draco!"

There was a nervous murmur amongst the crowd of survivors. Draco looked up to see his father summon him forth with a nod, but the blond boy, who looked so much like his father, didn't move.

Lucius scowled. "Draco, don't be stupid!"

Narcissa stepped in front of her husband, reaching out a hand. "Come, Draco," she said. Her tone was quiet, but absolute. Draco looked into his mother's eyes, and the young man hung his head in shame. He began treading his way forward, avoiding the baleful glances directed at him as he crossed the gulf between the factions.

"He saved your _life_ ," Ron muttered poisonously as he passed. Draco faltered briefly, stung, but kept going. His father reached out as he arrived at the other side, but Draco shook Lucius's hand off his shoulder with contempt. He joined his mother, who handed him his wand. The wand she had taken from Harry. Draco stared down at it in his hand bleakly, and then looked from it to over at Harry.

Caught unaware, Harry stifled a gasp as the two of them made eye contact. For a fraction of a second, Draco's eyes widened in amazement as he realized that _Harry Potter was alive_. Harry was about to make a move, when Draco turned his head and stared at the ground. Somehow, for reasons unknown even to himself, Harry _knew_ that Draco wouldn't do anything. And, just like that, he didn't. Like Narcissa Malfoy earlier, Draco Malfoy hadn't told Voldemort that Harry Potter was actually alive.

_But why?_

Harry heard a scuffle and a shout, then another bang, a flash of light, and a grunt of pain; he opened his eyes an infinitesimal amount. Someone had broken free of the crowd and had charged at Voldemort. Harry saw the figure hit the ground, disarmed. Voldemort threw the challenger's wand aside and laughed.

"And who is this?" he said in his soft snake's hiss. "Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh.

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who gave the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember," said Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet, unarmed and limping, in the no-man's-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. "But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?" Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled into fists.

"So what if I am?" said Neville loudly.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"Someone has to do the washing," Bellatrix sneered. The Death Eaters behind her roared in laughter.

"I'll join you when hell freezes over," Neville spat at them. Still battle weary, he straightened to his full height and turned to the survivors gathered behind him. "It doesn't matter that Harry is dead. People _die_ every day." Neville swung around furiously to glare at the snake-eyed Voldemort again. "He didn't die in vain, but you will. Because you're wrong! Dumbledore's Army!" he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort's Silencing Charms seemed unable to hold.

"Very well," said Voldemort as if mildly disappointed. Still watching through his lashes, Harry saw Voldemort wave his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle's shattered windows, something that looked like a misshapen bird flew through the half-light and landed in Voldemort's hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," said Voldemort. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then forced the hat onto Neville's head, so that it slipped down below his eyes. There were movements from the watching crowd in front of the castle, and as one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me," said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames.

Though, Neville somehow seemed prepared for this. As he screamed out in pain from the heat of the fire, he calmly reached up into the Sorting Hat and pulled forth... _the Sword of Gryffindor_.

Voldemort fired his wand, but Neville parried with the blade and the curse rebounded, taking out four Death Eaters flanking Bellatrix. She was the only one quick enough to deflect the curse.

And then... the most peculiar thing occurred.

Draco began running away from his parents, sprinting with the speed of a Seeker across the no man's land.[1]

"Potter!" he cried out.

Harry turned and watched in surprise as Draco raised his wand. Harry was about to duck away from whatever spell Draco was about to cast, but then he shockingly realized that Draco _had thrown_ his wand to Harry.

Draco raced past Harry to stand with the crowd on the steps.

"Well done, Malfoy!" shouted Ron. "Can't believe I said that," he then muttered to himself.

Harry caught the wand. Then, in one smooth continuous motion, he fired on Voldemort...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] **This scene was actually filmed for _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2_. You can find a link to the video on my tumblr page. Such a shame. J. K. Rowling might not agree, but I feel that Draco's redemption was the one main thing missing from her story. We have this epilogue where Harry and Draco give each the guy nod, but _why_? There was nothing really in the book that showed remorse, or a conscience of Draco. Narcissa's moment in the woods with Voldemort doesn't cut it. We needed Draco to do something that showed his true allegiance or morality. Throughout the books, Draco went from a Brat, to a Bully, to a Racist, to a servant of the Devil. He had _no_ redeeming qualities and then _somehow_ in the epilogue Harry and Draco seem to be _fine_. I was never okay with that. I think that deleted scene would have created a truly uplifting moment and freed Draco from his one dimensional character.**


	3. The Boy Who Defected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prologue (the previous chapter), I established the following (what I consider) major/important changes:
> 
>   1. Harry kissed Hermione _(once)_ chastely after Ron deserted them. They snuggled with each other (in a platonic way).
>   2. Hermione kissed Ron passionately after destroying the Horcrux _*and_ * after he expressed concern about the elves.
>   3. Draco saw that Harry was alive but didn't tell Voldemort. Later, he tossed Harry his own wand to kill the Dark Lord.
> 


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Other than the changes I made previously, the books are considered canon unless I specifically mention otherwise. Any other information (from the films or Pottermore) might be used as inspiration for my story, but I might equally choose to completely disregard it.**
> 
> **Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you can find at the bottom of the chapter. Nothing from the wizarding world of Harry Potter is mine.**

* * *

§ **The Boy Who Defected** §

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco, had been staying at a suite at the Langham Hotel for the past two months. The two pure-bloods were exactly the last sort anyone would expect to take up residence, even temporarily, at a Muggle establishment.

Which was pretty much exactly the point of staying there.

Draco had at first been disdainful at the prospect of lodging in a non-magical section of London, even if it was reputed to be one of the best hotels in the city. His opinion on the matter had changed once he had experienced the bliss that was the infinity bath in his mother's en suite.[2] While his room had a passable, even elegant he supposed under Muggle standards, bathtub, the master bedroom had been provided with possibly the most luxurious tub in existence. One that even the wizarding world would have difficulty in besting, and this conclusion included the prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts in the assessment.

It had taken only two weeks of hearing his mother, _of all witches_ , unexpectedly rave about a Muggle tub before asking her permission to try it himself. Not that Draco would ever admit it, but he now believed that his first two weeks of bathing in his own en suite were utterly wasted. It would be mildly disappointing to leave it behind when they could return to the manor.

If they could return the manor, that is.

After the Battle of Hogwarts was over, the Ministry of Magic had seen fit to evict them from their home. Not that Narcissa had been at all surprised; she was a cunning witch, as any good Slytherine should be. She and Draco had their trunks packed and on the front steps of the portico before the Aurors had even arrived. Malfoy Manor and the surrounding grounds were soon after shut down as officials from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement moved gingerly through the complicated layout of the manor searching for the vestiges of dark magic. Considering the sheer number of dark spells and artifacts used by the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort while they had commandeered it for their headquarters, it was unlikely that the Malfoys would return to their ancestral home anytime in the near future.

They could have gone to their summer villa in Hérault, but Draco had compassionately suggested to his mother that they reside near the Ministry during his father's trial at the Wizengamot. Narcissa knew that Draco wasn't concerned about her husband's welfare, as Lucius probably had irreparably destroyed their relationship with his ill-advised actions. Still, she was glad to have her son stand by her side while she stood by her husband. Draco's presence had kept her strong. The magical community had not been entirely kind to them after the end of the Second Wizarding War; hence Narcissa's subsequential suggestion of staying at a Muggle hotel. Despite her actions saving Harry Potter and those of Draco giving that Potter boy his own wand which young Potter then used to kill Voldemort, they had both been hounded by the press and maligned by blame-seeking victims of the war.

This was not how Malfoys had previously perceived to be treated by the public. At least, Draco had never felt that way. His father had been forgiven of his crimes in the First Wizarding War long before he could even remember. True, the family had fallen out of favor during Lucius's first stint in Azkaban, but Draco had blamed that on Harry. Anything else was inconceivable; the Malfoys were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families and as such had always been members of high society.

The last scion of a long line of wizards, Draco's sense of entitlement, his snobbery, and his generally unpleasant character could have been easily foretold. However, realizing that his father had allowed such terrible evils into their lives was a rude awakening to the reality of the wizarding world. Draco was not entitled, he was an undesirable, and he had few true friends. Theodore Nott was his only true... no, Draco didn't want to think about the state of his friendship with Theo... not right now.

 _Who else_?

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle didn't count as friends; they were mindless bootlickers. Plus, Crabbe was dead.[3] The idiot had accidentally killed himself using Fiendfyre during the Battle of Hogwarts. Blaise Zambini hadn't owled Draco all summer. When the evacuation started moments before the battle, Blaise left through the Room of Requirement and hadn't been seen since. Last Draco had heard, Blaise was in Italy. Pansy Parkinson was, thankfully, indisposed. She had been sent to the dungeons of Hogwarts after the battle, along with others who had wanted to give Harry up to Voldemort. Currently, she was under house arrest until the Ministry decided what to do with her. The Ministry was much more concerned in dealing with the surviving Death Eater leaders, like his father.

There weren't any Slytherins in his year who had openly opposed Voldemort... well, except for Draco. His fellow housemates who had remained neutral were keeping their heads down, and those who had and still supported the Dark Lord thought Draco was a traitor.

By coincidence, it was during these thoughts when Draco heard a nearby tapping sound. It seemed it was coming from a pane of the window overlooking All Souls Church. He looked up from his latest copy of the _Practical Potioneer_ and frowned. One of Hogwart's post owls was currently blinking back at him from the opposite side of the glass with a doltish look in its eyes.

Narcissa glided into the sitting area, straightening the sleeves of her robe. "Draco, my angel," she said, "did I hear something?"

"It's just one of the school's stupid owls," he replied. He nodded in the direction of the window and then returned his attention to the journal before him.

His mother stopped, a hand still poised on the lace cuff of her other arm. "Why haven't you let it in to deliver the mail?" She frowned when Draco barely shrugged his shoulders in response. Looking behind her with the slightest hint of disdain to make sure that there wasn't a Muggle maid in their suite, she pulled her wand from a pocket with a swish while saying, " _Fenestra Aperio_."

The owl flew in and dropped a letter addressed to him in emerald green ink on Draco's lap. He sighed and rolled his eyes then returned to his reading. "I'm not giving you a treat," he mumbled at the bird sitting on the back of his chair. The owl glared and hopped over to the dining table to pick at the remains of their breakfast before flying back out of the window.

Narcissa sat primly in the chair adjacent to Draco with her hand folded neatly on her lap. She tapped her fingers and twitched her nose, finally making a small sigh... then a louder one.

"Did you want to read the letter, Mother?"

"Only if you choose to ignore reading it yourself."

Draco thought of saying something snippy in return but managed to hold his tongue. He handed the letter over, and his mother stood and left to go into her bedroom. She returned with her malachite paper knife and sat back down, slitting the thick envelope open as she did so. She pulled out the letter and read aloud:

ᴴ

HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmistress: MINERVA MCGONAGALL

( _Order of Merlin, Second Class,  
Member, Order of the Phoenix_ )

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been invited to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete your seventh year.

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Filius Flitwick,  
_Deputy Headmaster_

ᴴ

"Oh, Draco, isn't that wonderful?" asked Narcissa with a proud smile.

"I'm not entirely sure I agree with that sentiment."

His mother pursed her lips. "Draco, please put down that rag and look at me while we're talking."

"Mother, this isn't a rag. This is a learned publication and worthy of my full attention."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes as her hand twitched back toward her wand. "As am _I_ ," she said in a clear, cold voice. Still, her tone was one step below that of a hiss.

 _Brilliant_ , thought Draco. He quickly put down the wizarding journal. His mother smiled again and smoothed out some nonexistent wrinkles on her robe.

"Thank you." She held out the letter back to him. "Draco, I think you should consider returning to Hogwarts to finish your schooling. If the your father's judgment goes badly..."

"If?" Draco injected. "Mother, _that man_ will be sentenced to Azkaban for life."

Taking no notice of her son's interruption, she continued. " _If_ your father's judgment goes badly," Narcissa said sternly, "then we must take the necessary steps to ensure your future." She leaned over to tap a manicured finger on the parchment in his hands. "And this is the first step in how we accomplish that."

"Fine. Your point might _possibly_ be a valid one," Draco admitted. "However, I still have no desire to return there. They don't need a response until July 31, so that will give me two weeks. I'll think about it."

"You have two hours. After that, we are leaving once again for your father's trial." She stood, taking her paper knife, and glided out of the room.

"And your answer will be _yes_ ," she called out over her shoulder.

* * *

Though Draco hadn't attended Hogwarts last year, he had indeed received schooling.[4] Bellatrix Lestrange, his maternal aunt and the Dark Lord's most loyal servant, spent most of what _should have_ been his seventh school year at Hogwarts personally training Draco in the powerful spells that the Dark Lord had once taught her. Draco's aunt was a dangerous and sadistic teacher. She used beatings and the Cruciatus Curse to torture Draco when he failed in her lessons. Which he did, often.

He shuddered at one particular memory.

 _"Only the most powerful wizards can perform magic without wands and words. You_ are _a powerful wizard, aren't you, nephew? Well, guess what. You need to become one if you wish to live, Draco. Now, I'm going to cast a_ _Crucio at you, and this time you will finally block it wordlessly and wandlessly. Ready, nephew?_ Crucio _!"_

That night, his aunt's numerous Crucios had nearly driven Draco to the point of insanity. His father had stood to the side during these... lessons, cringing each time the red light flew from his sister-in-law's wand to inflict excruciating pain on his one and only son. Draco would groan but knew better than to cry out, for Bellatrix would only torture him more furiously if he dared to do so.

However, it was his screams that had finally saved him. The pain had been so intense, as if flaming daggers were stabbing every inch of his skin simultaneously, and after being cursed a couple of times repeatedly Draco practically forgot where he was and who he was with. When he finally felt like his head was going to explode from the inside, he began screaming louder than he'd ever screamed in his life. His mother had come running into the room, shouting obscenities at her sister, ones that Draco had never even heard uttered in the boys' Quidditch locker rooms.

It had taken over a week for Draco to be nursed back to health, and he had missed Christmas entirely. Not that there was much holiday spirit to celebrate at Malfoy Manor.

His had later come to the conclusion that his family was, in short, dysfunctional.

After that, Aunt Bella would use a Crucio a couple of times but then stop to physically beat Draco until he was black and blue. It had taken months, but then one day, without warning, he could cast a protection spell wordlessly. With his wand he was soon able to cast almost all spells silently, if he concentrated hard enough. The Dark Lord had been very pleased and then ordered that the beatings continue until he could do the same without his wand, which his aunt had gleefully taken away. A few weeks before the final battle, Bellatrix had finally succeeded in teaching him to cast spells wordlessly _and_ wandlessly. By then, Draco was nearly skin and bones. His hair had become brittle and his gauntly bruised face barely seemed able to hold his sunken eyes. A success at last, he had gone crying to his room and almost didn't make it to his bed before blacking out and collapsing.

Draco awoke two days later. His family wasn't just dysfunctional, they were unquestionably deranged. That had been the first chink in Draco's bigoted views on pure-blood superiority. He was still prejudiced of course, but the importance of blood purity was never the same to him.

Back in favor with Voldemort and Bellatrix, Draco's wand had finally been returned to him. He was free once more to roam the manor, only to discover that his classmates Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas were being held prisoner in the manor's dungeon. Not only that, but a goblin and Garrick Ollivander were there too. While Dean's blood status was undetermined and Mr. Ollivander was a half-blood, Luna was a pure-blood. Even with Draco's narrow-minded views, he knew it was wrong for her to be there. The second chink in as many days had appeared.

The next morning there was a skirmish in the manor's drawing room, and he promptly lost his wand to Harry Potter. He didn't see it again until the battle, after his mother had taken it from Potter when she had checked to see if Voldemort had killed the boy. She had given her son his wand back before the final confrontation in the Clock Tower Courtyard, at which point, and for reasons still fully unknown even to his own self, Draco then gave the wand to Potter... again.

* * *

Narcissa took her son's arm as they exited the lift and crossed the hotel's lobby. Draco rather liked the look of the red sports car that the valet had brought up for another guest before they left, though it would be even better in black or dark green. The back of the coupe had what looked like a backwards E and a B. He made a mental note to ask the concierge about it.[5]

It couldn't hurt to be open to the idea of owning a _few_ Muggle possessions.

Like a mother and son on a midday outing, they walked purposely in the direction of Regent's Park. There were Muggles _everywhere_. The strange non-magical folk sauntered up and down the pavements in their peculiar clothing and careened past in their smoke-emitting vehicles. Narcissa and Draco attempted to keep any instinctual sneers off their faces, as such behavior only drew unwanted attention.

Together, they walked at a leisurely pace until they reached an alley without windows that was also out of view of the pedestrians. Though they had walked in the opposite direction of the Ministry Headquarters, this particular back street was the closest spot to the hotel from which they could safely Apparate from undetected. They looked around and then quickly ducked into the shadows.

Seconds later and nearly a mile and a half away, they appeared separately in front of the visitor's entrance to the Ministry, an old red telephone box that stood innocuously before a heavily graffittied wall. Draco held the door of the booth open for his mother and he entered after her. It was a tight fit, but such was degradation of using the common entry. Draco dialed 62442, and then they heard the voice of a female operator asking them to state their names and business.

Regally, his mother answered with her head held high. "Narcissa Malfoy along with my son, Draco, to attend the trial of Lucius Malfoy, my husband."

There was a slightly chilly pause before the operator spoke again. "Thank you," the female voice replied eventually, "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to your robes."

Two square silver badges appeared in the coin return tray. His said _Draco Malfoy, Death Eater Trial Observer_ on it. They both pinned their badges to their robes.

"Visitors, you are required to submit to a full search of your person when you register at the security desk," the voice said harshly. "You will _leave_ your wands there as they will not be permitted into the Wizengamot."

 _That's a new restriction_ , thought Draco, though little good it would do him as he no longer had his wand. _Yet a full body search?_ Suddenly, Narcissa and Draco's heads snapped at the same time to look at each other, both coming to the same realization.

It was the last day of the trial. Today would be the verdict... and likely... the sentencing.

Narcissa reached for Draco's hand as the floor of the telephone box shuddered and they began to sink slowly into the ground. He gave her a reassuring squeeze in return.

* * *

After dealing with the unpleasant security staff and journeying as quickly as possible to their destination, a lift chimed as the golden grille slid open. "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

Narcissa took Draco's arm again as they stepped out of the lift. He could feel her hand trembling in the crook of his elbow. The corridor was long and ominous, with cracked stone walls and lit by flickering torches that did little for the dimness. They finally stopped in front of a heavy wooden door with a massive iron lock. Draco gave his mother a nod, and she nodded back in return. He pulled on the bulky iron knocker, and they stepped into the courtroom. They took their seats in the gallery and waited.

There were many shadowy figures on the lower level, all wearing plum-colored robes. In front sat Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic. He stood out from the others wearing a respectable looking dark blue pin-striped robe, though he still had the single gold hoop earring in one ear and a brightly embroidered kofia on his bald head. He smiled politely as he spoke with the court scribe, Percy Weasley, in hushed tones, but his eyes betrayed his solemn weariness.

Twenty minutes later, a small door in the far corner on the lower level opened and his father emerged, shackled and flanked by two Aurors. He was escorted to a chair in the center of the room that instantly grew chains over the armrests and legs, further restraining him in place.

Gone was the proud, aristocratic man they remembered. Lucious's skin had yellowed, he had the unkempt stubble of several day's growth, and dark circles made sunken shadows underneath his eyes. He looked very much as Draco did during his aunt's lesson, minus the black and blue welts over his face and body.

Draco looked over at his mother. She was looking blankly at Lucius, her feelings and expression held in check by decades of Occlumency training. Narcissa reached over and her slim fingers found their way into her son's hand. He squeezed back and began patting it. She was his one concern here, his father be damned.

"Verdict and Sentencing for Death Eater trial of the seventeenth of July," said Shacklebolt in his deep voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, "into offenses committed under the Decree of Unforgivable Sorcery and Curses of 1717, Conspiracy to overthrow the Ministry of Magic by violent means, and status under the Decree of an Undesirable of 1501 as a Death Eater, follower of the resurrected Tom Marvolo Riddle. The defendant is Lucius Armand Malfoy II, resident at Malfoy Manor, Pursanguis Avenue, Swindon, Wiltshire.

"Interrogators: Kingsley Althalos Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic; Robert Liam McGonagall Jr., Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

The Minister of Magic extricated a piece of parchment from Percy's outstretched hand and read, "The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions did use all three of the Unforgivable Curses from August of 1992 to May of 1998, which constitutes an offense under paragraph A of the Decree of Unforgivable Sorcery and Curses, 1717, and also under section four of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy..."

Draco's mind drifted off as Shacklebolt read the rest of the offenses, though his attention was regained at the list of individuals who died as a result of his father's Killing Curse was read. He grew more and more nauseated each time he recognized the name of a classmate, yet, like his mother, his expression remained inscrutable. It didn't matter that some of them were Mudbloods... some of these names were _children_ , like him... though, in truth, it had been a long time since Draco felt like a child.

"Mr. Malfoy, you have been brought here before the Wizengamot and the Council of Magical Law," he said loudly, "so that we may pass judgment on you for these heinous crimes..."

"Wait," came a shout from the other side of the gallery, "what of the wife? And his son, a rumored Death Eater!"

All eyes turned to Draco and his mother. All around them, witches and wizards began muttering. Narcissa, without thinking, pulled at the sleeve of Draco's jacket to ensure his Dark Mark was covered. Draco subtly stilled his mother's hand, but dared not move otherwise. Lucius, sitting in the prisoner's chair, never bothered to look up.

Somewhere beneath him, Draco heard the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"Mr. Minister, if I may?"

Draco knew that voice...

"Yes, of course. The Council recognizes Mr. Harry James Potter."

"I have already provided testimony to clear any charges brought against Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy took great personal risk when she lied to Lord Voldemort and told him I was dead." There were more murmurs in the gallery.

"Quiet," roared Shacklebolt at the crowd. "Yes," he said after a moment in a much calmer tone, "the Council is aware of this." His gaze roamed the faces peering down from the second level. "Also, we have already been given evidence that the younger Mr. Malfoy did not confirm your identity upon your capture _and_ that he provided you with the wand which you used to kill Lord Voldemort. If there are no further objections from the gallery who are now instructed to remain _silent_ throughout the remainder of these proceedings..."

The spectators shuffled nervously, a few hostile glances were directed at the Minister, but no one said anything.

"No? All right then. Mr. Potter, you may be seated." Minister Shacklebolt turned his attention back to Lucius. "Does the accused have any final words to say on his behalf?" Draco's father snorted in contempt, and Shacklebolt narrowed his eyes at the prisoner. "I will take that to mean that you have nothing you wish to say. I now ask the jury to raise their hands if this trial has proven the evidence provided against Mr. Malfoy, the punishment of which is an automatic life sentence in Azkaban."

Immediately, the sleeves of plum-colored robes were raised in unison. Not one hand remained lowered. The crowd began to cheer in victory. Draco noticed that Narcissa was clenching her fists so tightly that her had knuckles turned white.

"I will not ask for order in this courtroom again!" shouted Shacklebolt. "The prisoner will be returned to his cell and is to await transfer to Azkaban." He looked up at the pale-haired mother and son above him and softened his tone. "His loved ones are permitted to visit with the convicted for fifteen minutes before the transfer takes place."

* * *

Draco and Narcissa sat in the gallery for several minutes as the crowd vacated their seats. Draco had no clue what was going on in his mother's mind. In all honesty, he didn't know what was going through his own mind. Joy? Relief? Anger? Shame? Sadness? Perhaps, he was experiencing all of them at once.

He heard footsteps that stopped directly behind him and then that familiar voice again.

"Malfoy."

"Potter," he replied without turning around.

Narcissa looked up and then stood gracefully, not acknowledging Harry Potter. "I believe I'll leave you for a moment. I think now is as good time a time as any to take a brief constitutional." She put her hand on her son's shoulder. "Draco, please come find me when you are ready, and we'll say our goodbyes to your father." She took a deep breath, tilted her chin up, and left.

"Constitutional?" asked Harry after she was gone.

"It means she's going to the loo," replied Draco sullenly. He finally looked up at the Boy Who Lived and rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you tell them the rest of it?"

"The rest?" Harry sat down two seats from Draco.

"How I treated you in school. The Vanishing Cabinet. Trying to kill Dumbledore. The Dark Mark that's on my arm because _I'm a bloody Death Eater_. Oh, not to mention what happened in the Room of Requirement. In the name of Merlin, who knows what else I've done... I've lost count of it all."

Harry smirked. "What makes you think I didn't?"

Draco leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

"Okay, fine. I didn't tell them _everything_."

"I'll repeat. Why?"

"You've never cast an Unforgivable Curse."

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort came from Draco. "I tried once," he said, "you just didn't let me finish." Draco was referring to the incident in the boys' bathroom on the sixth floor that occurred during that horrible year... _the year that Draco's own personal hell had begun_.

Harry winced, remembering the curse he threw at Draco to stop the other boy from casting his curse first. What happened afterwards was entirely his fault, and had Professor Snape not arrived when he did... Merlin... Harry could have killed Draco. No, _would have_. Harry was still horrified by what he had done. He remembered the young Malfoy covered in blood, shaking uncontrollably... watching in shock as Draco's wand fell from his limp hand and rolled across the waterlogged bathroom floor.

On impulse Harry asked, "Why did you run across the courtyard shouting _in front of Voldemort_ and throw me your wand?" Harry waited, but Draco didn't answer. The pointy headed blonde was clearly waiting for Harry to answer his question. "Fine, didn't expect you tell me that anyway."

Draco crossed his arms and leaned back. His gaze at Harry was unblinking, expectant.

Harry inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his untidy jet-black hair. "I don't know. I guess I wanted to cross at least one enemy off my list. Maybe I figured that the Boy Who Defected was a good place to start."

Draco didn't know what to say to that; a moment spent in silence passed. He finally rose from his seat, realizing his mother might be waiting on him. He would say goodbye to Lucius for her, even though that man didn't deserve it. Draco turned to look at Harry, who was cleaning his glasses on the hem of his shirt.

"This doesn't make us friends, Potter."

Harry put his glasses on and pushed them back up his nose, but he didn't stand. He raised an eyebrow at Draco, cracking a lopsided smirk. "Didn't think it would, Malfoy."

* * *

§

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [2] **There is a link to this construct of bliss on my tumblr page.**
> 
> [3] **In the films, Crabbe does not make an appearance in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, and his role was taken over by Goyle, who casts the Fiendfyre and dies in his place. This is because Crabbe's actor was unavailable for filming.**
> 
> [4] **In the books, Draco had gone back to Hogwarts for his seventh year. In my fanfic, he stayed home at Malfoy Manor (honestly, this change will differ little from the canonical version, as there never was much of the storyline that involved Draco being at Hogwarts during their seventh year).**
> 
> [5] **Bugatti, my absolute favorite amongst high-performance sports cars... If I could afford to actually experience one of them, that is. Even though I'm a girl, I want one. I put a few pictures of what one circa mid-to-late-1990s would look like on my tumblr page; however, the Bugatti Veyron is currently in production and one of the most beautiful cars I have ever seen.**


	4. The Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **If you are British or have lived in the UK, then please feel free to let me know if I've mistakenly left anything Americanized, i.e. phrases, terms (your jumpers vs. our sweaters), descriptions, etc. One can only rely on exposure through episodes of _QI_ and _Doctor Who_ for so long before accepting one's deficiencies. So, let's skip all pretense... I'm officially asking for your help.**
> 
> **Well... Perhaps anything other than the spelling... I simply can't bring myself to put a "U" in color or an extra "I" in aluminum. That somehow just feels naughty.**
> 
> **Nothing from the wizarding world of Harry Potter is mine.**

* * *

§ **The Burrow** §

* * *

"Where's Hermione?" asked Harry when he found Ron outside. The youngest of the Weasley boys was kicking at a garden gnome with one foot while the nasty little thing was trying enthusiastically to bite his other ankle.

"Dunno," Ron grumbled back after he had finally flung the gnome over the fence. He knelt to pull down his sock and check to see if it had broken the skin. "Might have gone to the Muggle library again, I s'pose. She's still using their interwebs to search for her parents, isn't she?"

"The inter _net_ ," Harry corrected. He frowned and looked down the lane in the direction of the village. "And you're probably right about that."

"It's all she's done lately," said Ron wiping the dirt from his hands off on his pant leg. He stood up and shrugged his shoulders. "How did it go with the Malfoy's dad?"

"Azkaban, life sentence. Not that anyone was surprised."

Ron snorted as he stared down at the village as well. "Well, _I'm_ surprised it took as long as it did, _and_ I'm surprised that they didn't go after the ferret as well."

"You aren't alone. When someone called that out, I actually spoke up on his behalf." Harry didn't remind Ron that reparations had already been imposed by the Wizengamot on Malfoy and his mother. That was information the Ministry was keeping from the public; the majority of the wizarding world would never see any amount of Galleons other than complete financial ruin to be a high enough price.

"Only you'd do something like that, mate, no one else would even bother," said Ron.

Harry moved his jaw back and forth, trying to think of how to bring the conversation back to what was important. "It was the right thing to do," said Harry. "I even had a _chat_ with him afterwards... Speaking of _which_..."

Ron looked over at Harry and winced when he saw Harry's foot tapping impatiently. "Bugger. _Knew_ you wouldn't let it go... You're not going to go after me again on that, are you?"

"I'll take to mean that you haven't mentioned it to her yet. You _said_ you would talk to her after I left this morning," said Harry. "Although how she hasn't guessed already..."

"You're mental. I haven't even told Mum yet."

"That's not an... _I_ only just told your mother the other day when we got the letters. I already told Hermione over a month ago, right before I started Auror training. Ron, this is becoming ridiculous; you decided weeks ago. They're both going to figure it out when you don't go with them to Diagon Alley this weekend to get your textbooks."

"Why are they going so soon?" wailed Ron. "We don't even have to respond by owl for another two weeks!"

"I'm not going to give you any sympathy there, mate."

Ron was glaring at Harry when, just then, something huge and orange leapt from off the roof. It landed on Ron's head, and then sprang to the ground with an excited hiss. Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat was chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs... it was the same gnome that Ron had kicked out of the yard moments earlier. The bald headed little thing sprinted underneath the rhododendron shrubbery, giggling as the cat pursued it.

"Oww!" cried Ron as he rubbed his scalp. "Why doesn't that cat ever catch the bloody things?" he asked.

"Because," said a laughing voice behind them, "Crookshanks just likes playing with them." The boys turned to see Hermione walking back through the gate with a smile on her face. Disregarding the screeching coming from the bush, she reached in a pulled her pet out, cradling him in her arms. "Clever Crookshanks, did you almost catch him?" Hermione cooed. Crookshanks began purring, his yellow eyes giving Ron a look of pure ostentation when Hermione wasn't looking.

"Don't you look daggers at me, you little monster," muttered Ron. He made a face at Crookshanks, then warily walked over to Hermione to give her a kiss... making sure to keep out of reach of the cat's claws. Hermione beamed back at Ron.

"How was your day?" Ron asked. He was about to ask if she brought back any Muggle sweets when he saw that her smile had immediately fallen.

"I don't have any more of an idea on where they are than I did yesterday, but I already knew this morning that I've exhausted all the usual sources. Today was a brand new day, so I decided to try something new and spent most of my time researching different detective agencies in Australia instead."

"I think that's a great idea. Are you going to hire one?" asked Harry.

"I think so," said Hermione quietly. "I got word from the Ministry this morning that Australian Magic Authority is primarily focused on locating the remaining Death Eaters in their boundaries and stopping the sectarian violence. They need to clean that up as quickly as possible and won't be able to spare any resources at the moment to help find my parents. There's nothing else I can do, short of going to Australia myself, to look for them." She held her head up high. "I won't go though, because I know that Mum and Dad would be furious if I skipped out on completing my schooling for another year."

Harry gave Ron a pointed look, who gulped back at him in return.

* * *

Harry and Ginny announced that they were skipping out on dinner early to go on a walk. He had taken the day off from Auror training for the Malfoy trial, but he still needed to get back to the training facility before dark. He gave Hermione and Mrs. Weasley big hugs, shook Mr. Weasley's hand, and waved goodbye to everyone else as Ginny dragged him out the front door.

"Who wants pudding?" Mrs. Weasley asked cheerily. George Weasley made a weak attempt to smile at his mother, who promptly gave him a double portion. After Fred's death, she had been indulging George every chance she got. George had been a wreck since loosing his twin, though spending time at the Burrow and with Ron had seemed to brighten his spirits somewhat.

"Thanks, Mum," George said. He looked up at Ron and winked, happily stuffing his face with twice the chocolatey goodness than anyone else received. Ron rolled his eyes at him, and George made a jerking head motion towards their parents.

 _Blimey, not him too_ , thought Ron. He began pushing his fork around his plate, wearily.

"Not hungry, dear?" asked his mother.

"Mum... I..." Ron bounced his knee up and down nervously. Not knowing how to start the conversation, he too begin shoveling pudding in his mouth in an attempt to prolong the inevitable.

"Eww, Ron," said Hermione. "That's disgusting. Perhaps swallowing what's already there and closing your mouth before chewing, if you would be so kind."

George snickered.

"What is it, son?" asked Mr. Weasley, noticing Ron's distress.

"I..." Ron sputtered through a mouthful of half masticated food. He began coughing, and Hermione began slapping him on the back out of concern.

"He's decided to come work for me," said George, "at the joke shop."

 _Bloody hell_ , thought Ron, finally clearing his throat.

Mrs. Weasley blinked and then turned to Ron, smiling. "I think that's a wonderful idea." His father smiled as well, but Hermione crinkled her brow.

"You really think so?" asked Ron, wide-eyed.

"Of course," said Mr. Weasley, nodding his head. "I'm sure that summer is the busiest time for your brother, and business will be booming. What with the kids getting ready for school terms to begin." He chuckled to himself.

"Yes," said Mrs. Weasley. "Wonderful of you to help George out until then."

Ron gulped, and George gave him a pointed look.

Hermione carefully set down her fork. "If you'll excuse me," she said irritably. "I forgot to feed Crookshanks." She didn't look at Ron as she left the table.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," said Mrs. Weasley in a scarily calm voice as she turned to Ron after watching Hermione leave. "What are you not telling us?"

"It isn't that I haven't told you," said Ron faintly. George started laughing and Ron glared at him. "It's just that I haven't told you _yet_."

Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes at her youngest son. "George," she said still looking at Ron, "you will tell me this very instant what your brother seems to be having a problem with saying."

George cringed. Their mother hadn't used that tone _on him_ in quite a long time.

* * *

Hermione walked far enough outside until the sounds of the shouting died down. _Merlin... it was almost as if two howlers were going off at once in there._

She sat on a fence post and stared out over the orchard. She had known, or at least she had suspected, that Ron wasn't going back to Hogwarts. Harry had been oddly distant when the three of them had been together the last few times over the past month. She should have seen it.

"Sorry about that," came a somber voice from behind her. It was George. On the left side of his head where his ear had been cursed off last year, he had two coppery pheasant feathers that almost matched his hair color sticking out in a comical manner. They reminded Hermione of TV antennae.

"What are _you_ sorry for?" asked Hermione.

"I assumed that you knew, being his girlfriend and all. I only pushed because I thought he was scared of telling Mum." George rubbed his nose. "I should have realized that if you had known, then you would have pushed him to tell Mum. Please believe me, it wasn't a stunt meant to embarrass you; I just wasn't thinking... Pathetic... I used to be much better at humor."

"How long?" she asked. "When did you decide to take Ron on at the shop?"

"I think you need to talk to Ron," said George. "I should go. I've caused enough mischief here tonight." He smiled warily and hoped on his broom.

"Harry, Ginny," he called out as he flew off, "Later!"

Hermione turned and saw Harry and Ginny walking back. Ginny had her arms crossed across her chest.

"I just heard," Ginny nodded to Harry. The sounds of shouting carried over the garden wall. Ginny rolled her eyes. "And I guess Mum has as well."

"Come here," said Harry. Hermione allowed herself be pulled into a hug.

"Neither one of you will be there next year," said Hermione, her voice cracking.

Ginny hugged Hermione as well, sandwiching Hermione between herself and Harry. "Don't worry," she said, "I'll be there."

This was how Ron found them a few minutes later.

Harry looked up. "I _really_ have to get going," he said. Giving Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek, he whispered, "Everything will be fine, you'll see." He embraced Ginny for a moment and then ran back towards the Burrow to use the Weasley's floo. "Glad you told them, mate," he said with a smile, stopping briefly to clap Ron on the shoulder.

Ron barely smiled back and turned to face the two witches.

"You're not going back to Hogwarts," said Hermione. It wasn't a question.

Ron shook his head no. His ears were scarlet.

"You never planned on even discussing it with me," she accused.

Ginny looked from Hermione to Ron and back. "I missed out on pudding," she said to no one in particular. "We'll talk later if you want to," she said to Hermione, leaving.

"Well?" asked Hermione after Ginny was gone.

"Well, what?" asked Ron.

She rolled her eyes. "Were you ever planning on telling me?"

"Yes, of course," Ron huffed. Ron looked half resentful, half sheepish.

"What about discussing your decision with me first?"

"Why would I need to do that?"

"It's a major life decision! We are in a _relationship_. This will affect me!"

Ron threw up his hands. "I don't want to go back to school, Hermione," he said.

"You could have told me... You decided this a while back, didn't you? You did, I know it! _Why_ didn't you tell me?" she started crying. "Did you not think I would understand?"

"Oh, Hermione," he said softly, "I'm sorry." He walked over and hugged her.

"You know how important education is to me," she said. He nodded, stroking her bushy hair. "You know that I _have_ to go back."

"I wouldn't ask you not to go back," said Ron, confused.

"But don't you see? We'll be apart... for nearly a _year._ "

"It'll go by faster than you realize."

"You'll miss your N.E.W.T. exams," she pointed out to him.

"Nah," he said, "I won't exactly _miss_ them. Quidditch was about the only thing worth coming back for."

Hermione pushed away and gave him a stern look.

"Oh, come on," he cajoled, "that was just a little bit funny." He tried to give her his most charming smile.

Hermione's expression didn't change.

"Yeah, well, Mum and Dad didn't laugh at that either." He scratched his head, "Look, Hermione, you _know_ me. The opportunity... George could use my help and I don't want or need to go back to Hogwarts. This is the right thing for me. And, you know that I will come and visit you as often as possible."

"I just wished you had talked to me about this."

"Next time, I will," he said simply. "No more major life decisions without you."

"Promise?"

He smiled. "Promise." Then he kissed her.

* * *

Later, in Ginny's room, Hermione stared up at the ceiling from the trundle bed. Nearly every inch of the plaster was covered with posters of Gwenog Jones, the Beater and captain for the Holyhead Harpies. Her yellow robes flapped in the wind and every now and then one of the posters would wave down at the two young witches below, but for the most part, it looked like the posters were all in a race with each other.

Ginny was taping her wand on her toes, changing the color of the polish with each swish and flick. Crookshanks sat next to her watching, his yellow eyes were mesmerized, and his head followed the movements.

Hermione made a mental note to pick up a laser pointer the next time she went to the village.

"So how exactly do you choose a good Muggle detective in Australia?" Ginny asked.

"Actually," said Hermione, "I'm going to need to find one in England first, start from the beginning and all that. Then comes Australia. Even better," she said rolling over, "I need to find one with international offices."

"Sounds expensive."

"Yeah." Hermione ran her fingers through the fringe on her blanket. "Harry offered to help me out with that, did you know that the Ministry is giving _Harry_ the reward for being marked _Undesirable No. 1_."

Ginny smiled. "I heard Dad mention it, and of course Harry offered to help you using that money." She stopping playing with her nails. "He helped Fred and George out with starting the joke shop you know. Gave them a _thousand_ Galleons." Despite the reward for Harry's capture as the most wanted Undesirable finally reaching 200,000 Galleons, Ginny was still impressed at the grand that Harry had given away.

"That was Harry's winnings from the Triwizard Tournament. He didn't want it; told the two of them that if they didn't take it that he would throw it _down the drain_."

They laughed. "Sounds like Harry," said Ginny. She looked over at Hermione and then flopped down on her bed. They both stared up at the posters on the ceiling. "I'm going to miss Harry next year," Ginny said slowly. "You know, while I'm at Hogwarts and he isn't..." Ginny attempted to slyly look over, but then she turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Anyone ever tell you that your as subtle as a Bludger?"

"Mum. Dad. Fleur and then Bill, of course. Ron. Harry, too... I think." The younger girl smirked in the way only a redhead could and propped her head up on her hand. "Did it work?"

"Ginny, I love you like a sister, but I'd rather not focus right now on your brother not being at Hogwarts this upcoming term. I'm still processing that news." _I'm still processing being with him to begin with._ Hermione took a deep breath. "But... How are you going to deal with it? Missing Harry, I mean."

"Oh," said Ginny. "That's easy. We're getting married."

Hermione's head snapped to look at Ginny's left hand, but it was bare.

"Hold your hippogriffs," laughed Ginny. "We're not engaged. Well, not exactly yet. Harry hasn't had a chance to go ring shopping. Every spare moment he's had since starting Auror training has been visiting here. Plus, I still want to graduate first, and after that Harry will still have two more years of training."

"So... a proposal or a wedding in like... three years?"

"No way!" Ginny cried. "I'm not waiting that long. For either!"

Hermione giggled.

Ginny smiled. "But we've talked, and _I'm sure_ ," she said. "I don't mind being apart for a few months when I know we'll be together for the rest of our lives."

 _Maybe_ , thought Hermione, _that's my problem_.

She wasn't sure. Not. One. Bit.

* * *

Once they had turned off the lights, Ginny had fallen asleep rather quickly.

Hermione couldn't fall asleep. Her mind was too busy to allow something as mundane as much needed rest to occur.

It was a vicious circle. She wished she could talk to her mother or even her father about her relationship with Ron. They weren't here, they didn't even remember her, so she needed to deal with it on her own. She wouldn't need to deal with it on her own if they were here, so she needed to find them. She couldn't spend much more time trying to find them, because she had to go back to school. She was going back to school without Ron, and she was convinced that the separation would not be good for their relationship. She wished she could talk to her mother.

Over and over, like a broken record.

Ginny looked so peaceful sleeping. _That there is face of a girl who felt secure in her relationship_ , thought Hermione.

 _And why is that_?

Because Harry Potter was a rock of stability.

 _What does that make Ron_? Hermione asked herself.

Both wizards had both abandoned their witches last year. However, Harry had broken up with Ginny for what Hermione considered a very good reason. He had feared that if Voldemort knew how he felt about Ginny, then she would become a target. Harry had felt that in good conscience he could not knowingly endanger her life. Ginny had argued that she knew the risks, but in the end she had accepted his decision.

After snogging him properly, that is.

Ginny was amazing. After Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gone off to hunt for the remaining Horcruxes, Ginny, Luna and Neville had organized Dumbledore's Army all on their own, putting their trust in the hope that soon Harry would be back. Ginny had never lost faith in Harry, and he never lost faith in her.

Hermione thought about the time she had kissed Harry, if she could call it that, but the memory didn't sit well. It was like remembering kissing one's brother. _That's what Harry is_ , Hermione decided, _my brother_. She loved him but like a brother. Neither of them had family now, so it only made sense that they claim each other.

Then, Hermione thought about the first time she had kissed Ron. It had been completely unexpected. After Ron had abandoned Hermione and Harry, she had been so very devastated. The locket's negative influence had affected her just as much, but she carried on... as did Harry. She called for Ron, begged for him to come back, but nothing had changed his mind. Even with Harry, she had felt so alone. For weeks and weeks.

Ron hadn't cared about the mission like they had. He hadn't cared about _her_.

Then at Malfoy Manor, he had offered himself up to Bellatrix Lestrange in her place. Begging in vain for the demented witch to take him in her stead. While Bellatrix had tortured her in the Malfoy's drawing room, she had heard Ron crying out for her from all the way down in the dungeon. Hearing him had given her the strength to lie to Bellatrix about the location of the Sword of Gryffindor.

 _That had to mean something, right_?

That had carried her through to the day before the battle. Together, she and Ron had destroyed the second to last Horcrux, Hufflepuff's Cup. Immediately after that, he had expressed concern about the welfare of the house-elfs, something he had only laughed at before.

So Hermione snogged him. Properly.

She had thought that they were going to die, and the _one thing_ she had wanted to do was kiss Ron. It was entirely impulsive, Hermione hadn't exactly thought anything through, but by the next day on the battlefield Ron was calling Hermione his girlfriend.

 _That had to mean that they would make it through a year apart, right_?

Hermione wondered what her mother would tell her. Perhaps that she just needed to work on being a little less critical. Everything will work out.

Besides, the school term started in just a month and a half. It was precious little time to arrange for a detective to locate her parents. Normally, there would already be so much work and reading to prepare ahead of time before classes began, and not to mention her N.E.W.T.s to think about. Clearly, she really needed to put these thoughts and doubts about her relationship with Ron on the back burner.


	5. Lucius Armand Malfoy II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you can find at the bottom of the chapter. Nothing from the wizarding world of Harry Potter is mine.**

The door slowly swung open with the ominous sound of gears clanking as they were released. An Auror emerged into the dank hallway and then politely motioned for Narcissa Malfoy to step out. Draco Malfoy stared at the massive door and into the room from behind his mother.

He had no desire to pass through it.

"Draco," Narcissa said with a weak smile. She had obviously been crying; her bloodshot eyes were rimmed in red. She put a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder. "Please don't... This may b-be..." Her lip quivered, so she took in a deep breath to put on a brave face. "He is still your father, but I won't make you go in there."

Draco wondered what her foul excuse of a husband had said to make his mother so upset that she would tell him that. He decided to go in and find out. Regardless of what he would have to deal with, Draco knew she would draw comfort from an attempt on his part. He patted her hand. "It's fine, Mother."

The grim faced Auror gave Draco a nod. "You'll have fifteen minutes."

It was more time than he would have preferred. He stepped into what appeared to be some sort of an interrogation room, and the Auror followed immediately afterwards. The door was shut behind them, the vibrations of the locks echoing in the small space. The Auror walked to join a colleague on the other side.

The man manacled to a table in front of the Aurors was obviously Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face, though the yellow tinge of his skin looked even sicklier up close than it had in the Wizengamot. His gray eyes were identical to Draco's, but they glared at his son while Draco stared back at him blankly. He looked like he hadn't slept or shaved in days. Draco sat down on the opposite side of the table.

The once disdainfully proud pureblood and his mirror image of a son stared at each other silently for several minutes. Finally, the elder Malfoy's lip curled. "What will be the purpose of _your_ time here?" he sneered.

"To give my mother some peace of mind. We can continue to spend it in silence for all I care."

"We will not," snapped Lucius. "I will tell you the same thing I told her. You are a pathetic excuse of proud wizarding lineage. A bloodtraitor and no son of mine." He leaned forward pounded a fist on the table for emphasis. The Aurors took a step towards their prisoner, wands raised. Lucius watched them nervously, carefully unclenching his hand in submission.

Draco snickered silently. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes as if bored, knowing it would only incense his father further.

"Think you're something special, don't you?" he said in a snide voice. "No respect for family. Turning your back on the Dark Lord to save your own skins."

Draco snorted, "As if."

Lucius's stopped from ranting further, looking confused.

"Mother is Potter's third cousin, did you know that? I believe that makes _them_ family," Draco said, watching his father twitch in anger. "Merlin, that means Potter and I are related as well," Draco then muttered to himself. He shook his head and glared at his father again. "And yes, what she did was to protect herself and _me_. She had to, what with you inviting that psychopath into our family's house."

"That was an honor," insisted Lucius.

"It was the worst mistake you ever made, both as a wizard and my father. He _terrorized_ us while you were in Azkaban, forced me to take the Dark Mark because you weren't enough of a murderer for him. You come back from prison and it only got worse. You didn't care what he had done to us, and you didn't care what he kept doing. For Merlin's sake, he fed a professor to that snake in our bloody drawing room." Draco leaned back in his chair and looked around the room for a clock. There wasn't one. Without his wand, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed. "Even now, you can't admit that you were wrong," Draco said in resignation.

Lucius scratched the stubble on his cheek. "So that's it then? Renounce everything you've been taught? Follower of Harry Potter now?" He said Potter's name as if it were a profanity.

"No," said Draco. "I'm tired of being used. I'm not following _anyone_ ever again." It startled Draco to say that, but he realized it was the truth. He would be the master of his own destiny from now on and would make choices as he saw fit. It was a very... _mature_ feeling.

The same Auror who had let Draco into the room walked towards the door. "It's time," he said gruffly.

"This isn't finished!" shouted Lucius as Draco got up.

 _No, it likely isn't_ , thought Draco.

* * *

"Mother, please. We shouldn't."

"It doesn't do us any good if we don't even _try_ ," she replied. It was the same thing she had said once she was done "resting" at the hotel after their day at the Ministry. While Draco had been looking forward to a drink and a good book once his mother retired for a nap, Narcissa had taken a Pepperup Potion and then immediately declared it was time to go.

So here they were, standing outside of a big bookshop on Charing Cross Road in Central London. It was directly next door to the Leaky Cauldron. The concealment charms made their eyes pass from the bookshop to a record shop on the other side if they looked too quickly. The entrance was a small, shabby door flanked by dirty windows. It wasn't the pub that Draco dreaded. So far this summer he and his mother had passed through it several times from the Muggle world, as they weren't allowed to Apparate and didn't have access to the Floo Network at their hotel. It was the shop they intended to visit in Diagon Alley on the other side of the pub that the young Malfoy dreaded.

"If we don't keep going, then the store will be closed by the time we reach it. In which case, well... we'll just come back tomorrow and spend the entire day in retail therapy. Shopping is a girl's best friend after all."

_Mother has been spending too much time with Muggles; she's starting to sound like one._

Draco sighed and held out his arm, Narcissa smiled proudly and took it. They straightened their postures, held their chins up, and in they went.

There weren't many patrons in the pub, but the senseless babble from the few conversations died quickly when they saw who had entered. Draco was used to the stillness that occurred when anyone in the wizarding world saw him. It was a reaction that almost made the Muggles easier to deal with.

Almost.

The bartender threw down a towel he had been using to wipe up a spill, crossing his arms and watching Draco and his mother warily. His customers either sneered at them or averted their eyes.

They walked seemingly unaffected yet quickly into the courtyard on the other side of the bar. Narcissa counted the bricks at the rear wall with haste, and then tapped the one they needed three times with the wand she had removed from the sleeve of her robe. As soon as the archway that appeared was wide enough, they stepped through.

Now that they were in Diagon Alley, they could pull the hoods of the robes over their heads. It was almost like shedding a heavy weight when the wizards and witches on the cobbled streets paid them no heed. They were simply ordinary magical folk, two of many in an anonymous crowd merely going about their business.

The sign above their destination was no longer peeling and faded. Even in the dwindling light of the day, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382b.c. now sparkled with fresh paint in glittering gold letters. The glass in the window was new, or perhaps it had simply been cleaned.

Draco hesitated at the front step. He didn't understand how his mother could so easily walk into the wandmaker's shop. Over a year ago, Voldemort's Death Eaters kidnapped Garrick Ollivander and held him prisoner at Malfoy Manor. Draco had found out that Lord Voldemort had tortured the old man for information, which again sadly happened in their family home.

As if sensing his hesitation, the door before them opened. "Good afternoon," said a soft, slightly feeble voice, "or should I say good evening?" Draco jumped, and Narcissa squeezed his elbow almost painfully.

"Hello, sir," said Draco reluctantly.

"Ah," said Mr. Ollivander, "I was wondering if you would come. Young Master Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy." It wasn't a question. "I'm afraid I didn't see much of either of you during my stay at your home."

There it was, the pink hippogriff in the room that Draco had hoped no one wanted to talk about.

"I thought we would die there in that horrible place, your home, that... dungeon."

Draco hung his head. _Merlin, as if this could get any more humiliating_.

Mr. Ollivander leaned forward towards Draco, who felt very exposed out here in the street. "I remember every wand that I have ever sold. I remember you and your mother here, almost precisely eight years ago to buy your very first wand. Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches. The wand that was later used by Harry Potter to defeat the Dark Lord."

Draco said nothing, and only his innate pride kept him from looking away in shame.

Ollivander took a deep breath and then swallowed. "I also heard that you _gave_ it to Mr. Potter to do so, after the wand had changed its allegiance from you to him."

Narcissa nodded, yet her eyes darted around to see if anyone on the street was within earshot. The garbled sounds of the pedestrians surrounded them, but Mr. Ollivander kept his budging eyes upon Draco's face.

"The _Daily Prophet_ mentioned that it is on display at the Ministry, and they also reported that you had no interest in claiming it," said the old man. He leaned back slightly. "Curious. Few outside of those of us who study wandlore can respect that the wand chooses the wizard. Yes... very curious. Have you come then to purchase another?"

"If you would allow us to do so," said Narcissa in a respectful tone.

Ollivander stood in the doorway to his shop, his silver eyes unblinking as always. He was transfixed on Draco's face. He must have been debating the decision on whether to allow them into the shop, and at some point came to a conclusion. Mr. Ollivander stood a bit straighter and Draco prepared himself for the worst. The only other wand purveyor in Britain was the Wand Showroom, and their wands were inferior in both craftsmanship and power to those sold at Ollivanders. Perhaps they could go to France for a new wand, and then spend the remainder of the summer at their villa, and his mother could...

"By all means," the old man finally gestured, "come in."

They all stepped inside, and Ollivander turned the sign at the front of the shop to indicate it was closed. Draco gave a sigh of relief now that they were out of the street. Narcissa perched herself uncomfortably yet gracefully on a spindly chair.

"Will you be buying a wand as well, Mrs. Malfoy?" Though how the old wandmaker suspected or even knew that her original wand had been destroyed was beyond Draco.[6]

"No, thank you," said the witch primly. She pulled a wand from the pocket of her robe. "I'm perfectly happy with this one."

"May I?"

Narcissa nodded and handed it to Mr. Ollivander for examination. He held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his arthritic fingers, flexing it slightly.

"Rosewood and... _hmm_... ah, yes. Caladrius feather," he said. "Nine and one-half inches. Firm. More powerful but less adaptive than your previous wand I believe, excellent for healing spells. This was the wand of Druella Rosier."

"My mother."

"Of course." He handed Narcissa back her wand. "Well, now. Mr. Malfoy. Let me see." He flicked his own wand absently behind him and a file index drawer on the other side of the tiny shop opened up. Dust motes flew into the air as the cards shuffled forward, and then one yellowed card flew across the room and into the old man's hand. "Yes, I always keep the measurements of my customers." Mr. Ollivander skimmed over the card's information, and then released it to fly to the register's counter near the rear.

Draco felt like he was being ignored.

The wandmaker began darting over different shelves, finally taking down a single box. He took the wand out and handed it to Draco. It was all-black with a silver handle that had a scale-like design engraved down the entire length. "Try this one," he said somberly. "Seventeen and a half inches. Elm and dragon heartstring. Quite sturdy."

Draco took the wand, feeling an agreeable warmth emanating down his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and the evanescence of bright green light dissipated from the tip, extinguishing the gloom of the shop. It somehow reminded Draco of his father's wand.

"Yes, I thought so. There you go, Mr. Malfoy. It seems this wand is attracted to you," said the wandmaker. He took the wand from Draco, placing it back in the box carefully. He set that on the counter and then took a quill from his pocket to make a quick notation on the card with Draco's measurements. "That will be seven Galleons, if you please," the old man said over his shoulder at he made his way to the file index.

His mother had been smiling, but then she noticed the conflicted look on her son's face. "What is it?" she mouthed silently.

Draco didn't know what was wrong. That wand was powerful, and he could feel its acceptance of him. He just... didn't want it.

"Wait!" blurted Draco. Mr. Ollivander froze, the yellowed card in his hand poised over the open drawer. "Do you have to take the wand that chooses you?"

The old man turned around slowly and fixed Draco with his pale stare. "You don't want the wand?"

"I... I don't know," Draco confessed.

"Why?"

"I said I don't know..."

"No, you said you don't know if you want the wand." The old wandmaker released the card, and it flew back to its previous spot on the counter. He stared once again at Draco, unblinking. "Let me clarify. Why do you hesitate? What is it about this wand?" he insisted.

"It isn't really a reason, but..."

"But?"

"That wand. It's... length. Made of elm. Those... scales." Draco gulped. "It reminds me of my father's," he finished quietly.

Narcissa gasped faintly, and then the shop was silent. It was so quiet that Draco could hear the muted sound of footsteps and conversation from the pedestrians outside.

Ollivander gave a little cough. "As I said before, the wand chooses the wizard," he said. "That much has always been clear to those of us in this business."

Draco resigned himself to the wand. "I understand."

The shop sat in silence as the dust seemed to settle around them. Ollivander scratched his chin and picked up the wand in question. "Tell me, young Malfoy," he said. "Would you have purchased this wand without hesitation while I and the others were being tortured in the bowels of your home? The truth, please." There was no accusation in his voice.

"I," began Draco, but then he hung his head, "yes, I think so."

Straightening her robes and rising from the wobbly chair with surprising grace, Narcissa walked up to Draco and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's fine, my angel. The wand will work well for you. The rest of this means nothing. I'm sure you'll come to see that in time." She gave the old man a mild frown and her son a reassuring smile.

"On the contrary, Mrs. Malfoy," said Ollivander jovially, having not seen the look the witch gave him as he hadn't taken his eyes off Draco. "I did not make the wand of Lucius Malfoy, though I have examined it... Such a work of art!" For the first time, the wandmaker's eyes twinkled. "Your father carried it in a walking stick, but when it was originally created over a thousand years ago, it fit into a sword like a scabbard. You could still make out evidence of the reverse tang that adhered magically within the blade, you see. Quite brilliant really to transfigure it as a walking stick. It was your ancestor, Armand Malfoy I believe, who brought it to Great Britain from France during the Norman invasion."

The old wizard gave the young man a perplexing appraisal and then looked at the wand box in his hand. "Even I mourn the loss of your ancestral wand. It was my belief that if and when this wand chose you that it would possibly be a suitable replacement for that irrecoverable family heirloom. So then... how curious... yes, how very curious indeed... wait here a moment, please." He disappeared behind a curtain in the back of the shop. Draco looked at his mother, but she looked as confused as he felt.

Ollivander returned with another box, carrying on with the conversation as if he had never left. "My family has almost exclusively used unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons for the cores of our wands. There are other powerful magical substances that a wandmaker could use of course... for example: Veela hair, caladrius feathers, Kneazle or troll whiskers. However, we rarely use these as we have long considered them to be inferior substances. A Thestral tail hair was said to have been the core of the Elder Wand, the strongest wand in the entire history of wizardkind, but those hairs are an unstable and difficult component to use."

He opened the box, but the lid blocked Draco's view. "This wand," Ollivander said hesitantly, "is made of Hybernia wood.[7] No two wands are ever the same, but I will never be able to make another similar to this one." He carefully placed the wand directly on the counter in front of the box.

The wood was so pale it was nearly white, and it almost glowed against the dimness of the shop. It had a gnarled and knobby surface, and the end curved into somewhat of a handle.

"Hybernia wood. Fourteen inches precisely. Reasonably springy."

Draco picked up the wand, and an electrical sensation tingled over his whole body. He felt the hairs stand out on the back of his neck. He raised the wand slightly and gave it a modest swish, a stream of psychedelic transparent light shot from the end, throwing something similar to an aurora borealis on to the walls.

"You didn't mention the core," whispered Draco, obviously in awe.

"It doesn't have one."

Draco and Narcissa snapped their heads and looked at the wandmaker, completely dumbfounded.

"I don't understand," said Narcissa. "We've come here to purchase a wand..."

"And this _is_ a wand," Ollivander insisted. He seemed somewhat insulted. "The wand is its own core. Hybernia wood comes from a magical tree. It is as powerful a substance as any other core used in my wands. Nice wand for mind spells. This wand would suit any strong Legilimens or Occlumens, both of which I suspect that you are."

Draco nodded. He still felt the power of the wand tingling over him pleasantly, almost soothingly. "Why will you never be able to make another like it?"

"A derivative of the Hybernia tree is the source of a powerful mind-altering potion that induces forgetfulness. Once I had finished creating it, I could not recall where the tree grew or how it was crafted." He noticed the look of concern from his two customers. "Fear not," Ollivander said, waving his hand dismissively. "Those side effects would never happen with a completed and fully functional wand."

"Of course," said Draco.

"Yes," said Narcissa drolly, "one should always be able to assume that _your_ wands are safely constructed." She turned to Draco. "Do you think this is the wand for you?" She waited for a response, but her son didn't answer. Before Narissa could become concerned, she noticed that he was smiling. _He looks like a boy again_ , she thought.

"Are you skilled in wandless and wordless magic?" asked Ollivander.

Draco cringed at the memory of his aunt's lessons. "Yes."

"An unusual talent," said the old man, taking it from Draco's hand. "Fortunately, this is an unusual wand. I think you will serve each other very well."

He placed the wand gently in the box. "That will be seven Galleons."

* * *

They spend the remainder of the evening at their hotel. Narcissa wrote a letter to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, requesting an appointment to discuss the contents of her husband's vault. Though he had not died and the gold would remain in his personal vault, his incarceration would enable her to move several items into the larger family vault.

The largest, most well protected vaults belonged to the oldest wizarding families and were deep beneath the surface of the earth. The main Malfoy family vault was much more secure than their individual vaults. Narcissa had the key to Lucius's vault, and he had grudgingly given her permission to store certain items in a more secure location.

Why they weren't there in the first place was anyone's guess.

Draco realized that this would mean another trip to Diagon Alley, a comprehension that could not be sustained without wine. He immediately ordered room service. He was becoming quite adept at using the Muggle telephone, having stopped talking into it until after he picked up the receiver. Once he had gotten the hang of how Muggles ordered food, he only had to wait slightly longer than it would have taken for a house elf to deliver his meal.

Draco looked out at London's skyline as he waited. It was raining. He couldn't see the stars through the clouds, but the night was beautiful in its own way, so many lights. He looked below to watch the odd umbrella bearing pedestrians battling against the downpour and the iconic red double-deckers and black cabs rumble by on the street.

He had rejected a wand, one that was suited to him. It had seemed to understand him, but he declined it... _What does that mean?_

Was this because he told his father that he would no longer be a follower? Ollivander had been right; the first wand would have been a suitable replacement for the family heirloom that Voldemort destroyed. _That_ wand had been his birthright, but Lucius had given it away to a madman.

He reached into his pocket and took out the Hybernia wand. It was so odd that Garrick Ollivander sold each of his wands for seven Galleons, regardless of material or power. Strange price that was. He seemed such an intelligent man; he certainly had an excellent memory.

_How could he forget how this wand was made?_

Draco turned the wand over in his hand. It felt right. Holding it even briefly made him feel like a better wizard. Despite Ollivander's assurances, he wondered if the wand made him somewhat forget that he was a Death Eater. He never felt this way about the hawthorn wand; it had never brought him comfort. The more pressure and turmoil in his life, the greater he had seemed to master that wand. Yet understanding and mastery had not equaled a feeling of ease.

This new one had the promise of something different... something better.

There was a knock at the door and Draco went to go answer it. A uniformed Muggle wheeled in a tray and began to set the dining table. Narcissa was still at her desk in her bedroom, writing, and Draco let her know that their meal was ready.

"Did you order that lemon tart with the raspberry sorbet again?" she asked as Draco pulled out her seat. Her glance flickered hopefully from her endive salad appetizer to the silver cloches on the buffet table.

Of course he did. He was a son who would do anything to make his mother happy after what his father had done to them. He would even go to Hogwarts for her, but maybe, with the hopefulness he felt with this new wand, it wouldn't be so bad going back to back there after all.

 _One could only hope_ , he thought as he hungrily dug into his caviar d'Aquitaine appetizer. Clearly, he simply needed to put these unpleasant thoughts and doubts about returning to school out of his mind. Right now, he needed to focus on what still needed to be done before classes began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [6] **Draco lost his mother's original wand in the Room of Requirement while fighting Harry for Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem, and it was subsequently destroyed when Vincent Crabbe unleashed Fiendfyre in the room.**
> 
> [7] **The Hybernia tree is from the _Wonder Woman_ TV series (1976-1979).**


	6. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you can find at the bottom of the chapter. Nothing from the wizarding world of Harry Potter is mine.**

* * *

§ **Diagon Alley** §

* * *

Somehow alone for once in the Weasley's bustling home with only her cat and thoughts to keep her company, Hermione sat on the sofa in the living room of the Burrow and tried to ascertain a _rogue_ feeling of agitation.

She didn't believe she was still upset that Ron wasn't returning to Hogwarts with her. After all, she understood the logic and reasoning behind his decision. Ron could have followed Harry to become an Auror, but he had wanted to be more than sidekick of "The Chosen One." Ron could have returned to school with Hermione, but he had never prioritized his education like her.

Ron was joining George in an attempt to fill in a hole his family still felt over the loss of Fred and to find his own place in the wizarding world. It wasn't a surprise when she thought about it. Hermione remembered the long nights during the hunt for Horcruxes, and how Ron had talked about joining the twins at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes after they defeated Lord Voldemort. This dream of his had existed for quite some time.

_So what in the name of Merlin is wrong?_

Hermione had, so far, come up with two possible hypotheses.

First, that this was an ongoing reaction to the fact that Ron had lied or, at the very least, had deceptively withheld the truth from her. In which case, she either needed more time to get over this or Ron still hadn't properly apologized. _Or both._

The second possibility, which Hermione found far more disturbing, was that she was _questioning_ their relationship. However, _that_ couldn't be the case because she loved Ron and Ron loved her. He was her one true love; it was something she had long believed without question. That knowledge was her rock. Her foundation.

Incidentally, if she actually was questioning their relationship, then she must have been _wrong_ for a very long time.

Hermione retaliated against that thought by smacking the cushion next to her, startling Crookshanks. He jumped down to the floor with a hiss. She looked over at her cat, whose expression definitely conveyed that he thought she had lost it. "Sorry," she apologized, "I'm just waiting for Ron to get here and it's making me anxious." He paused from licking his paw as if to say "oh really" and then swished his tail dismissively and left the room.

If only Ron would get back to the Burrow... so they could finally go to Diagon Alley _together as planned_ , then maybe she could control her subconscious. "Good grief," she mumbled, "not even hunting Horcruxes bothered me like this."

Hermione wished her mother was here. It was at times like this that Helen Granger would...

A flash of bright green light disrupted her thoughts. Immediately afterwards, she heard a boom come from the other room as the Floo activated and echoed throughout the house. Straightening her bushy hair as best she could with a quickly conjured ribbon, she sprang up from the sofa and left the living room.

She arrived just in time to see the fireplace belch out a sizable puff of chartreuse ash. Ron emerged and dusted the soot from his trousers. He gave Hermione a lopsided grin as she walked through the doorway. She felt a flutter in her heart as he came over and gave her an even bigger hug than usual. Her toes dragged along the kitchen floor as he swung her in a slight arc.

Then he snogged her, tilting her backwards in a near dizzying angle. Hermione melted.

Ron set her down and gave her a wink. His blue eyes twinkled. "I have great news for us," he said.

"You're coming with me to Hogwarts?" she asked, only half joking.

Ron's ears went pink. He gulped and wondered how he was going to calm his girlfriend down after he told her what was _sure to now be_ disappointing news. "Blimey, Hermione... Oh... wait. Are you messing with me?" he asked, noticing the giggle she failed to keep quiet.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"Thanks, for a second there I thought you weren't over that."

Oddly with those words, Hermione felt that agitating itch coming back. "You said you had news," she reminded him, trying to shake the annoyance once again noticeably scratching at the back of her mind.

"Right! George and I have been talking about expanding."

"Expanding?"

"I know! Apparently, George and Fred had made plans to expand this year. Then what with closing the shop because of You-Know-Who, they never got farther with those plans than just as an idea, and then of course Fred..." He paused; his eyes glazed over and glistened, but only for a moment. "Yes, anyway... George still wants to do it. I think it's a good idea, too. He wants to put my 'knack for strategy' to work... Plus, Fred would have wanted this." Ron looked at her expectantly.

"Expanding to build a bigger store?" asked Hermione, wondering how that would be great news for them.

"Oh! No, not that. Sorry. Expanding, as in _another_ store. You know, in _Hogsmeade_."

This was fantastic news; Hermione squealed. "You'll be living in Hogsmeade!" He would be close enough to Hogwarts that they could see each other all the time, well, at least often and...

"Not exactly." His smile dropped slightly, as did hers. "This is still in the planning phase. We probably won't have the new shop open for at least another year." He then smiled widely again and cupped her cheeks in his hands. "But," he said, looking into her eyes, "George and I agreed that I'll be the one making trips there, as often as I can get away with taking them. It won't be too difficult. You won't believe how much work will need to be done before we can actually have an opening, but I want you to know that I'll make sure to see you each and every time I have to make a trip to Hogsmeade."

Hermione froze right in front of him, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes wide. She realized that this wasn't as good as Ron attending Hogwarts or moving to the village, but he had made an effort to meet her halfway. He had found a way to see her while she was still in school, and he obviously did this to keep their relationship strong. It was brilliant; she should have thought of it.

Hermione launched herself forward, and he nearly jumped backwards in surprise.

"You... amazing... _genius_... Ronald... Weasley!"

She punctuated every word with a peck on his cheek. Ron hugged her, swinging her around and laughing as Hermione kissed him.

Ron's ears went pink again. "I try," he said, trying to hide his embarrassment with some awkward cockiness. He looked over at the clock. "Merlin! Look at the time. Seriously, we need to get you to Diagon Alley. Mum and Ginny were not pleased that I hadn't left yet because that meant you were still here waiting for me."

He took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantel piece to offer her some of the glittering Floo powder. She smiled, took a pinch, stepped aside while throwing the powder into the flames, and then shouted the destination. "See you on the other side," he called out as she vanished into the emerald green fire.

* * *

§

* * *

Many miles away and already in Diagon Alley, a tall platinum-haired wizard in black robes stood with his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring at an equally tall yet rabbity-looking wizard with dark hair. Neither of the young men seemed to blink as several moments passed.

"Draco," said the thin one finally.

"Theodore," said Draco, nodding coldly. He removed the hood of his cloak, as if not caring should anyone nearby recognize him by the color of his hair. He leaned back against the bookcase behind him, looking utterly confident.

The crowd at Flourish and Blotts wasn't terribly overwhelming, but there were more customers than usual. However, none of them seemed to pay any attention to Draco's trademark "Malfoy" hair or Theo's off-putting scowl. When a young witch bumped into Theo's shoulder as she jumped up in an attempt to reach a copy of _Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?_ on a high bookshelf, he accidentally broke eye contact.

Draco smirked, his pale eyes glittering in triumph.

Theo sighed.

The truth was that Theodore Nott wanted his friend back. Draco Malfoy was probably the only Slytherin that he had ever considered a true equal. They never did quite get along as close friends normally would, but that was more from how Theo had always been a loner... _or at least he had been alone prior to last year_. Though Theo was a pureblood like Draco and from an equally noble family, he had never felt the need to join Malfoy's gang. However, the two boys had always respected the other's intelligence. They had even been close confidants once. These two Death Eaters' sons had often asked advice of the other, and Theo knew it was their last conversation which had fractured their unusual friendship. He was about to say as much, when Draco surprisingly spoke up first.

"Did you get my owls?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

"Funny," Draco snorted. "Of course you realize I couldn't have known that, Theo, because you never responded. Not. To. A. Single. One. Merlin, not one. Did you even read them?"

"Yes, of course. Look, Draco, I know what you think..."

"Do NOT tell me what you presumed me to think. Not once. Not _ever_ ," he seethed, having then to take a moment to calm himself. A couple of customers looked their way, but the potential scandalmongers lost interest when Theo wisely chose not to respond. "Did you at least _use_ them?" he forced out at a much lower volume through clenched teeth.

"Don't," Theo bit off, holding up a hand. "Do not ask that question. What kind of wizard do you think I am?"

Draco somehow held his tongue, but he eyed Theo with suspicion... and possibly... _pain_?

Theo felt a strong pang of guilt clenching in his chest; it physically hurt. "Merlin, Draco. Fine! I did. Come on, you _knew_ I would," he replied. He glanced up and then stared down the aisle past Draco's shoulder with a sad smile. "I shared them with Tracey as well."

It took Draco a moment to process that. "Who... What? _Dwarfish Davis_? That short bird who was constantly getting into cat fights with Pansy? Why on earth would you show them to her?"

"Because I was Head Girl, _obviously_ ," said a smug voice behind Draco. He turned to see Tracey Davis with a huge stack of course books in one arm that she was also attempting to levitate with the wand in her other hand. Draco's eyes widened; she had transformed since the last time he saw her during their sixth year. Gone was the short and chubby tomboy, she had been replaced by blonde bombshell with a truly seductive curvy figure. "Didn't you know?" the petite witch asked, beginning to struggle with the lot she was carrying. Quickly, Theo stepped around Draco to take the books from her. "Thanks, sweetie," she murmured as she stretched up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

The once stoic Draco finally blinked after witnessing the kiss. "Well... that's... definitely a new development." He was stunned for only a moment, but then Theo smiled lovingly down at Tracey, an expression which only served to remind Draco of his previous anger. "Nice to have _someone_ stand by you when the world has gone to shit, but then again, it must have made the prefect meetings terribly awkward," he said nastily. "Cliché, don't you think? Head Boy and Head Girl dating?"

Theo was about to retort when Tracey put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tsk-tsk. Seriously, you two. You're acting like a psychotic dark sorcerer intent on conquering the wizarding world came between you boys or something _equally ridiculous_." The pretty witch took the top two books from the stack in Theo's arms. "Don't worry. Once you realize that you're both prats, everything can return back to normal." She pointed a finger at both wizards. "Behave yourselves; I still need to pay for these, and I would appreciate returning to _not_ seeing the two of you hexing each other like overly self-righteous Gryffindors." She gave a mock shudder of revulsion and then walked away.

A moment of awe passed, but then a whistle of appreciation escaped from Draco. "Wow... she looks..."

"Indeed."

"And she's also so much more... _uh_ ," Draco said, scowling at the back of her head in that supercilious way of his, " _feisty_ than I remember."

"You have no idea," responded Theo, staring after her as well.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "And you like that?" Granted, it seemed that Tracey Davis had finally filled out in all the usual places that were fun to mentally undress on a young witch, but the otherwise attractive blonde was a little bit bossy for his tastes. He looked away from the witch with the long sandy hair swishing to her boyfriend, his previously estranged, yet still not off the hook, friend.

Despite balancing the top of the book stack with his chin, Theo gave Draco a big grin. "You have _no_ idea."

The load that Theo was struggling to hold looked heavy and unwieldy. "Why didn't she give them to an elf to take home?" Draco asked, indicating Tracey's books with a dismissive gesture.

It was Theo's turn to raise an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?" asked Theo suspiciously. "There have been severe restrictions on deliveries all summer. No one would risk trying to bypass the regulations, and everyone knows that it's easier just to take your purchases with you."

"Oh, that's right. I remember reading something or another about that."

"You _read_... Where have you _been_ these past two months?"

As if on cue, there was a crack of thunder outside as Draco's anger returned. "Perhaps you would know if you had ever responded to any of my owls last year or even wrote me since then," he snapped.

"And we were getting along _so_ well," Theo barked back snarkily, almost losing his balancing act with the books.

Draco huffed, but he really didn't want to argue with the only friend he had ever respected. He took a deep breath and swallowed his pride. "Would you believe me if I told you that I was in Muggle London the whole time?"

"You're serious." It wasn't a question. Theo allowed his jaw to hang for the appropriate amount of time to convey his shock. He finally whistled, and then he leaned against the bookcase next to Draco while he chuckled in amusement.

Not appreciating any acquaintance laughing at his expense, Draco glared at Theo. The last Malfoy scion acknowledged that the concept of any member of his family living amongst Muggles was indeed rather mind-boggling, so if he wanted to consider Theo as a friend, then he should probably be more... friendly. "Completely serious," he replied. Holding out his black leather satchel with an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, Draco managed to give Theo a somewhat courteous smile. "Do you want me to take half of those?"

"Thanks," said Theo. He smirked and tossed all of Tracey's books into Draco's bag.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"We good?"

"Good enough," said Draco as he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Sighing heavily, Theo shrugged back and glanced away from him. "I believe I should... possibly... thank you... for owling me at Hogwarts. It... helped." The wizard ran his fingers through the dark bangs hanging over his face. "Appreciate it if we never have to mention that again, though."

That was more than he needed to say. The two wizards were Slytherins after all, and emotional vulnerability was simply not what they did. However, the unexpected gratitude and honesty meant the world to Draco, who had felt alone for so long. He started to reach out to pat Theo on the shoulder. Instead, he gave him a friendly poke in the ribs with his elbow. "Stop being a damn Hufflepuff, Theo. We're fine," he said.

Theo was quiet for several seconds. "Tracy was right. You're a prat," he said, but he was smiling.

"That's not new information," Draco replied haughtily. "Also, hardly upsetting, since it means you're one, too." His pointy features had softened, he was smiling as well. It was the first time Draco had felt... well, _genuinely happy_ for quite some time.

* * *

§

* * *

Waving goodbye to Ginny, George, and Mrs. Weasley, Hermione leaned over to Ron and whispered into his ear. He smiled and nodded without taking his attention away from stocking the shelves. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then grabbed a circular from the stack near the door. Hermione transfigured it into an umbrella with a quick _Voco Bumbersho_ before stepping out of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. [8]

What had begun, around the time when she and Ron had arrived at the shop, as a light drizzle had turned into a relentless downpour. She was pretty sure that she would stay drier if she were to walk through a waterfall instead of stepping out onto the street, but she gripped the handle tightly and did her best to protect herself from getting too wet as she raced down Diagon Alley. The parchment used for the promotional flyers wouldn't be able to hold the alteration spell against such heavy rain for long, but she hoped it would last until she reached Gringotts.

It didn't.

A uniformed goblin standing underneath an archway quickly pulled open a burnished bronze door as she ran up the white stone steps of the bank. She called out her thanks and skidded to a halt in the foyer, completely sodden and shivering from the cold indoor air. The bullet-like raindrops had reduced the transfigured umbrella into a wad of papery mush, so she tossed that into an ornate trash container next to the inner set of silver doors.

Hermione pulled out her wand and gave it an intricate little wave that caused shimmering waves of heat emerged out of the tip, which she then pointed at her robes. They began to steam and were soon as warm and dry as if they had been hanging in front of a blazing fire. The hot-air charm didn't completely warm her body underneath, but at least she had stopped shivering.

Another goblin standing next to the second set of doors nodded his head appreciatively as she dried the puddle on the floor as well. He placed a hand over his heart, his long fingers nearly covering his entire chest. "Hermione Granger is a most considerate witch," he said. The goblin moved his other hand above the handle of the door.

"Thank y-"

"Even if she and her friends did break into the Lestranges' vault," interrupted the goblin flatly. He made no move to open the door. " _If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours_ -"

" _Thief, you have been warned_ \- yes, of course. Well... I'm quite sorry about all of that. Truly, I am... as are my friends. I promise that I learned my lesson. _We_ learned our lesson," said Hermione, shifting uncomfortably. She looked at the silver set of doors and wrinkled her brow. "Am I not to be allowed inside?"

"You will be allowed in, Hermione Granger." Though he was much shorter, it seemed to Hermione that he was looking down on her from his slanting black eyes. "The goblins are forever grateful to you and Harry Potter for defeating the Dark Lord and freeing Gringotts after it had fallen under Wizarding rule."

"It was hardly just the two of us! There was an _army_ at the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Indeed. Yet you were the witch who conspired with your friends and ensorcelled the once loyal Griphook to commit treachery. No other wand-carriers from that battle committed crimes such as yours. Bewitching several of my kind. Breaking into one of our vaults. Stealing an invaluable guard dragon."

Hermione had to bite down on her tongue very hard to keep from protesting the ridiculous notion that they had _Imperius_ 'd Griphook... even though that was true for _other_ goblins. Additionally, now was also not the time to complain about goblins' treatment of that heartbroken and horribly abused dragon, the one that she, Harry, and Ron had freed. She was glad that she broke its chains and then convinced Harry and Ron to ride on its back during their escape. Hopefully, it was out there flying high in the clouds... far away from the barbaric pain inflicted on it by the goblins, who had chained the creature up to guard their treasure down below.

The hand resting on goblin's chest twitched, and one finger wound the thin black beard upon his chin. "We have chosen to forgive Hermione Granger... _this time_ only."

"I see, thank you," said Hermione.

The goblin wrapped the spindly fingers of both hands around the handle of the silver door and began to pull it open.

"Wait. What about Harry and Ron?" she asked.

Turning to face her, the goblin narrowed his dark eyes at her before responding. "Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord, and for this the goblins are most grateful. My kind has forgiven him as well." When she stayed put and didn't step through the door, he tilted his head. "Gringotts will require a formal apology from Ronald Weasley. He neither killed the Dark Lord," the goblin paused to wrinkle his nose and look at Hermione with curiosity, "nor did he stand out from others of your race to protest the treatment of... _lesser_ magical beings."

"Oh... I see." She blinked. Ron had expressed concern about the house-elves at the battle, but the goblins had no way of knowing that. "I have never thought of house-elves or goblins as lesser magical beings, and I have always advocated this to my friends."

The goblin leaned back against the door, now open wide. "You think in ways other wand-carriers do not, and for that are revered amongst goblins for your unprejudiced mind and actions. Hence your admittance, Hermione Granger." He waved inside, gesturing for her to enter the bank.

Smiling now, she held out a hand. "Thank you, for letting... for forgiving me. What is your name?"

A corner of the thin lips on the goblin's mouth seemed to spasm, as if he was trying to suppress a smile. He didn't take her hand, bowing instead. "I am called Magmok."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Magmok."

The goblin said nothing further and closed the door behind her as she entered Gringotts. As was her habit each time entering the vast marble hall, her gaze drifted upwards. Through the clerestory windows, she could see the storm still raging outside.

A flash of lightning made her blink, and she shuddered involuntarily at the crack of thunder. _Why didn't I come earlier when the weather was so much more pleasant?_ she thought. It was getting dark very quickly, the sky looking much later than early afternoon.

She looked around the vast hall, it was a busy place. There were wizards and witches all over the place. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, wet and, agitated. Well, except for one wizard who was whistling and sauntering past with a spring in his step...

_Merlin! Is that... Draco Malfoy?_

Hermione blinked. Yes, it was him. Malfoy was easily recognizable with his sleek white-blond hair and rather sharp, pointed features. He wasn't as thin as he had been when she, Harry and Ron had been prisoners at Malfoy Manor. He had looked even worse at the Battle of Hogwarts, having a grayish tinge to his skin that she had pointed out to Madam Pomfrey... in case he had been injured.

Realizing that she was watching him practically skip towards the doors leading to the vaults, she turned away. Malfoy's father had recently been sent to Azkaban for life, was he really that cheerful over his father's sentence?

She shook her head and made her way to where the goblins sat behind a long counter on tall chairs that enabled them to see wizards and witches at eye level.

"Good afternoon," she said to one goblin who was quietly scribbling away on a large ledger. She pulled an envelope out of her beaded bag. "I've come to exchange Muggle money into galleons." Hermione removed a handful of fifty-pound notes from the envelope and held it out to him.

"You will need to speak with the Non-magical Exchange Services manager." He didn't look up from writing. "Third hallway on your right, past the doors that lead to the vaults." He made a shooing gesture, dipped his quill into his ink bottle, and continued jotting down figures in the book; she had clearly been dismissed.

 _So much for revered amongst goblins_ , she thought.

Turning around, she instinctively looked up again and watched for a short moment as the rain pounded against the windows. Then she looked back down to get her bearings and finish the errand that brought her here in the first place. She saw the doors that led to the vaults, recognizing them from when she, Harry, and Ron broke in a few months ago. She crossed the marble floor, looking around and noticing several archways that had long hallways behind them. As Hermione walked towards the third hallway, she heard her name being called.

Professor McGonagall waved, standing at the entrance to the one of the doorways that led down to the vaults. She was wearing purple robes so dark that they were almost black, and her hair had grayed quite a bit from the last time Hermione had seen her. However, her usual stern face had disappeared completely with a bright smile. That alone made her look decades younger.

"Hello, Professor." She hurried over, and the professor reached out to pat her hand affectionately.

"Hello to you as well, Miss Granger," said the old woman, smiling kindly.

It was then that Hermione noticed Malfoy standing on the other side of the headmistress. The expression on his face as he looked at her made Hermione want to check her face for Cornish Pixie dung... as usual. It seemed his good mood was long gone at the sight of someone so far beneath him.

 _Prat_.

Professor McGonagall, who had been talking the entire time, paused. Something behind the two students catching her eye. "Isaac, there you are. Come, I would like you to meet some of our returning seventh years."

Hermione had only ever seen one person make a truly ominous entrance that coincided with a loud clap of thunder in her life, and that was Mad-Eye Moody; well, at least it was a wizard _pretending_ to be Mad-Eye.

As the man stepped away from the shadows from the dimly lit hallway and into the light, he was suddenly illuminated by the flash of lightning. He was revealed to have a severely creased, dark olive-skinned face; deep-set eyes under prominent brows, one of which was bisected by a thick scar; and an aquiline nose. His long dark hair was drawn into two thick braids bound at the ends with leather thongs that draped down over each shoulder. Instead of the usual pointed hat of most wizards, he had on a well-worn Stetson. He was dressed from head to foot in fringed brown leather robes cinched at the top with a large turquoise-encrusted bolo tie.

The most prominent feature that caught Hermione's eye was his sad frown. It was if both disdained the world around him and saw the beauty of it at the same time.

"Allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said McGonagall primly. "Professor Rainwater."

Hermione noticed McGonagall standing up slightly taller, and then she looked at the dark-skinned wizard in fascination.

"He comes to Hogwarts highly recommended. Professor Rainwater, allow me to introduce you to two of our brightest students, both of whom received an Outstanding on their OWLs and will be in attending your NEWT-level class, Miss Hermione Granger and Mr. Draco Malfoy."

"Howdy, Miss Granger," he said with an incredibly deep and drawling voice, tilting his hat in her direction. He nodded at Malfoy. "Mr. Malfoy."

"Hello, Professor Rainwater," Malfoy said, bowing deeply enough that his white blonde hair fell in front of his eyes. "I've heard of you, of course." He was obviously in awe of the imposing wizard.

 _Rainwater... that name is familiar,_ thought Hermione. From Malfoy's behavior, he was obviously someone of importance. She must have read about him.

"Congratulations on the position," said Hermione, now extremely curious. "I'm sure we are honored to have you."

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "It really was quite thrilling when I heard the news of his acceptance to the position, so forgive me if I seem somewhat restrained. At my age, one must ration one's excitement."

That seemed to make him smile, and he chuckled softly.

The headmistress turned slightly pink. "We were considering Professor Sinistra for our DADA position, but she was most insistent that we first find a proper replacement in the Astronomy Department. Professor Rainwater was on a sabbatical, traveling extensively for his research, but as a personal favor agreed the position for the upcoming school year."

He bowed his head and tilted his Stetson again. "I listened to the wind and felt it only right that I offer my services."

Rainwater then reached into one of his fringed leather sleeves and pulled out a small box wrapped in brown paper and bound by tiny iron chains, which he handed over to McGonagall.

McGonagall gave her wand a little flick and shrank the package, putting it deep into one of the pockets of her robe. "Thank you once again for your assistance, Isaac. Are you heading back to the school now?"

"No, I must exchange the last of my spondulicks for galleons before I go."[9] Spondulicks were the enchanted banknotes used in the American wizarding community for some reason.

"Oh," chimed Hermione, as his errand piqued her interest. She had read about spondulicks in _Magical Journeys and Holidays: A Guide to Traveling with Ease_ , but had never actually seen one before. "I'm heading to Non-magical Exchange Services manager to exchange my Muggle currency, but I'm not sure if that is who you need to see to exchange your money."

"No, it isn't."

"I can go with you, since I'm heading the same way," she offered, not hearing his answer. "Professor, I've never seen a-"

"Miss Granger, might I have a moment of your time first?" The older witch nodded at the tall wizard, who tilted his Stetson to her and then to Hermione before walking away.

"Yes, ma'am." Hermione felt a mixture of disappointment and curiosity. What, then, did McGonagall want? She noticed Malfoy was trying to quietly make an exit at the same time as the professor.

"Minerva, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy. 'Till next time then," said Professor Rainwater, already heading towards the third hallway.

"Stay, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall. "I haven't dismissed you yet."

An arrogant scowl crossed his pointed face, but he stopped inching away.

McGonagall reached into another pocket and pulled out two pieces of parchment, handing one to each of them. "Since neither of you attended Hogwarts at all last year, despite the deplorable lack of proper educating that occurred during that time for those who did attend, I must insist on some reading to refamiliarize yourself with the studies you left behind sixth year."

"Are all returning seventh years required to do this?" asked Hermione. She already had a full schedule trying to locate her parents and prepare for her upcoming courses.

"No, Granger. Just us," snapped Malfoy. "Professor, as I was saying, I was _just_ at Flourish and Blotts," complained the spoiled wizard, looking up at the stormy sky beyond the windows. Hermione realized that Malfoy this what must have been what McGonagall was talking to him about earlier when she first saw them, and so that is why he was trying to sneak away... and whining because of a little bit of rain.

Lightning flashed and a loud clap of thunder boomed made the chandeliers sway slightly. The goblins at the long counter grabbed their ink bottles and glared above at the weather.

 _Okay, maybe not entirely just a little bit of rain_ , thought Hermione.

"No, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall coolly. "Just the four of those returning who didn't attend at all last year. That would be the two of you, Mr. Finch-Fletchley, and Mr. Thomas."

* * *

Justin Finch-Fletchley was a Mud... _Muggle-born_ in their year who had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Justin and his family had fled Britain last year, according to what Draco had heard from the Snatchers. Draco guessed since they were both Muggles that he would be a friend of Hermione's. Draco barely knew the wizard.

Draco gulped, recognizing the other name. Dean Thomas was a Gryffindor; his mother was most definitely a Muggle, but he didn't know if his father was a wizard or not. Dean's presumed Muggle-born status put him on the run from the Ministry. He was captured by Fenrir Greyback, a violent werewolf imprisoned now in Azkaban for life like Draco's father. Dean somehow survived Greyback savage capture and became a prisoner at the Death Eater's headquarters, Malfoy Manor... around the time that Hermione Granger was captured and tortured at the manor.

Draco needed to extract himself from this situation, immediately.

"Yes, professor," he said, taking the list. He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. "I'll do as you ask."

"See to it that you do, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall. She turned to Hermione and they began chatting.

Draco scowled at the headmistress after her back was turned and walked away, heading down the third hallway.

He soon heard the sound of someone close behind. He turned and saw Granger following him.

 _Drat._ He had forgotten that she was heading to the exchange manager as well. He waited until she passed him and then continued as well. He felt vulnerable with her walking behind him.

Granger slowed down and let him go by, then followed. It seemed she shared his misgivings.

Not that he would hurt her. They would probably throw him in Azkaban for sneezing in her direction.

Stopping, Draco turned around. "I'm not comfortable with you walking behind me, Granger."

"Well, as I'm no more than a _Mudblood_ in your eyes, it's probably in my best interests to keep you where I can see you while wandering through dark corridors."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. It seemed that today was the day for confrontations.

"I am not going to do _anything_ to you, Granger."

"Of course you aren't. I'd hex you before you even raised your wand."

Draco almost smirked, but quickly schooled his amusement behind a disinterested expression. Instead he frowned at her. "You would try, I'm sure," he said dismissively. "As to using offensive language, you may continue to refer to yourself with any vile terms that suit your fancy. It makes no difference to me. However, you can refrain from including me in using your maledictions, since I don't stoop so low any longer. It was plebeian to have done so in the first place, and I do regret having lowered myself to that level."

Hermione blinked. "That's all? That's the best you can come up with for insulting me for _years_?"

Draco creased his brow. "What? Is any further apology necessary?"

" _That_ was an... You are unbelievable." She turned to go down the hallway, but pivoted back. "Where are you going?"

"Non-magical Exchange Services."

Hermione's mouth made a little "o" and hung open. "You want Muggle money?" she asked incredulously.

"No," he sneered. She looked at him dubiously. "I need to exchange it for Wizarding currency."

"You have Muggle money on your person."

"Yes."

"As in, British pound sterling."

"Yes."

"As in, paper money and coins with the Queen-"

"Merlin, yes! I have Muggle banknotes and I need galleons. Apparently, I failed to exchange enough for Wizarding currency since it seems I _now_ need to go _back_ and buy _more_ books."

This was humiliating. The Ministry hadn't yet rescinded the instructions to Gringotts to audit his vaults. They seemed to be taking their sweet time getting around to filling out the proper paperwork. He couldn't charge anything to his accounts without having to fill out a bloody form in triplicate each time. Fortunately, they didn't have any control over the Malfoy's Muggle bank accounts. He could spend _that_ money without goblins watching over his shoulder, the only problem being that he had to exchange it first.

She was biting her bottom lip. He wished she wouldn't do that; it irritated him for some reason. He knew she wanted to ask why he had Muggle money and tensed in preparation to tell her to leave it alone. He'd call her a Mudblood if need be. Which would be a complete waste of his apology, but she had no business inquiring into his personal affairs.

She didn't ask.

The corridor was quiet, neither of them spoke. Granger stood there silently, just staring at him. Draco wondered what she was thinking. He considered a wordless and wandless Legilimens on her, but a spell like that difficult enough when properly done, aloud and with a wand. He may have some skill (thanks to his deranged Aunt Bella), but he wasn't confident enough to risk it.

Slowly, she started back down the hallway. "We'll walk side by side. Neither of us in front of the other." She made a gesture for him to come along.

"Granger, we aren't going there together," he said, but began walking anyway.

She fell into step next to him. "Of course not, Malfoy."

_Bloody self-righteous, pushy, stubborn Gryffindors._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [8] **First, _voco_ is (according to Google Translate) Latin for _summon_. Next, a word oddly American in origin, _bumbershoot_ , means a (British) _umbrella_ , but it has never been a "Britishism".**
> 
> [9] **_Spondulicks_ was the Word of the Day at dictionary dot com on Thursday, March 12, 2015. It is older slang for _money_. I just really like the sound of this word, and as such... it needs to make a comeback. ;-)**


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